


In the Soft Light

by CSHfic, VSfic



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Enemies to Lovers, Fire Lord Azulon, Getting Together, Huddling For Warmth, Hurt Sokka (Avatar), Hurt Zuko (Avatar), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Miscommunication, Moon Spirit Sokka, Northern Water Tribe, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Sickfic, Side Katara/Yue, Slow Burn, Southern Water Tribe, The war ended early, Underage Drinking, Zuko is an Awkward Turtleduck, side Hakoda/Bato
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 83,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26098987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CSHfic/pseuds/CSHfic, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VSfic/pseuds/VSfic
Summary: As the newly appointed cultural liaison to Northern Water Tribe, Zuko is the first Fire Nation Citizen to step foot inside the city's walls in nearly a century. He's determined to prove himself—to the Fire Lord and to his father—even if the Water Tribe's spirit-touched prince seems to want nothing to do with him.orMoon Spirit Sokka AU
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 1570
Kudos: 3852
Collections: A Labyrinth of Fics, Well Written Well Composed Well Loved, escapism (to forget that the world is a burning hellscape)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [@peachieflame's Moon Spirit Sokka](https://peachieflame.tumblr.com/post/622247542553559040/zukka-royalty-au-where-sokka-is-northern-water), and [this amazing Moon Spirit Sokka art by @dickpuncherdraws](https://dickpuncherdraws.tumblr.com/post/624941259001315328/more-of-my-take-on-peachieflames-moon-spirit).

Zuko’s cold weather robes, which the royal tailor had been so confident in while Zuko was standing there pinned up in the sweltering Fire Nation heat, seemed truly, laughably thin now. 

They weren’t even made to his exact measurements. He hadn’t stopped in Caldera City long enough to have the robes properly tailored, between the time it took to respond to his father’s summons and the scheduled departure of the _Ryumaru_ bound for the North Pole, and so the tailor had sewn them ahead of his arrival and quickly altered them to fit. He’d done a good job despite the rush, but they weren’t perfect. The wind cut through the gaps where the robe’s fit was just slightly too loose, and the skin around his scarred eye felt raw from the cold, even with his hood pulled up and cinched as tightly as it would go.

Zuko took a bracing breath and felt the chill recede, just a bit. At this rate, he was going to be exhausted by the time he reached the palace, using his breath of fire far more than he had in… basically ever, really, just to stay warm. It hadn’t exactly been necessary in the warm climate of Caldera City, and even less so in the tropical humidity he’d grown accustomed to in his last few years of… schooling, living at this grandfather’s insistence in an empty estate on one of the distant isles of the Fire Nation’s outer archipelago.

(Well, estate was a generous term. It had certainly been empty, but it was smaller and lonelier than anywhere he’d ever lived. When he’d first arrived, Zuko had thought he’d be sent to one of the boarding schools the outer archipelago was known for, the roof of which he could just see peeking over the trees on the other side of the island. He’d thought, maybe when he was well enough—but he'd learned very quickly to stop asking about that.

Anyway, his education had been the best, and he’d done well, clearly, because his father was trusting him with this now.)

They’d been waiting for the Northern Water Tribe ship for almost an hour now, their own ship stalled outside the great ice wall protecting the city. He hadn’t spent this long on a ship since—well, in years. Since he’d left Caldera City. It had made him a little seasick, those first few days on the water. 

He was… in bad shape, last time. His memories of that journey were hazy, but even now the rolling motion of the ship left him feeling strangely breathless. Being below deck, combined with the churning waves, just made him more ill. The fresh air helped.

That little remedy was less of a problem near the Fire Nation, but now the weather had turned from chilly to brutally cold. The outside air was suddenly much less welcoming. Standing on the deck, eyes fixed on the horizon, and trying not to think about the sterile claustrophobia of his quarters beneath him was much less pleasant with the frigid wind biting his cheeks.

Finally, finally, one section of the wall shivered, sloughing ice and slush into the water until a perfectly round door appeared. It wasn’t very large, and the craft that passed through the opening could hardly be called a ship, with only three crewmen on board. The captain of the _Ryumaru_ leaned up over the rail to peer down at it testily, and then glanced back at Zuko with the briefest flash of irritation before he seemed to remember himself. Zuko shrugged his robe up a little defensively under that flash of a glare. It wasn’t his fault they’d taken so long, or come in such a tiny vessel that they’d have to struggle to get down to them, instead of shuffling Zuko across the gangway with his bags and being done with him.

The captain just grumbled and turned away to bellow orders at the crew, and within moments they were urging the little boat closer, rigging up Zuko’s meager belongings to crane down onto the Water Tribe boat. He didn’t have much with him, hardly more than a couple trunks, and mostly stuffed with different ceremonial robes for different occasions, all stitched from the same heavy but likely still too thin fabric. The captain eyed him again, as though sizing up whether Zuko would need to be craned down with the rest of it. Zuko ignored him and started for the ladder on his own.

The ladder bolted to the hull was metal, and had been subjected to the icy spray of the sea for the last idle hour, never mind the last few frigid days of sailing. He nearly slipped on the third rung and had to force himself to slow down. He pushed back the irritated part of him that just wanted this over with as he edged down the rest of the way. His boots were, apparently, going to be a problem too, with no grips to speak of, so he really was off to a great start.

He had to jump the last couple feet from the ladder to the boat, robes swishing out around him in the wind. It barely swayed under his landing, as the two men at the sides of the boat shifted their arms into mirrored, flowing stances. Zuko watched them with interest, trying not to stare too openly—he’d never seen any waterbending before. Their stances were much looser than a firebender’s, soft edged and with an almost tidal rhythm. 

The waterbenders shifted again and quelled the little wave that rocked the boat as the crane dropped Zuko’s luggage down onto the deck. Zuko hesitated, unsure which of the men was the captain. They made no effort to introduce themselves, but the one that wasn’t busy steadying the boat was eyeing him shrewdly, so… probably him. Zuko bowed, then offered his arm in greeting, in the Water Tribe way like their cultural advisor had shown him. 

The Water Tribesman just looked at him for a moment, all stony faced and silent, and then turned his face back up toward the ship. The crew of the _Ryumaru_ was already hauling the crane away above them.

“Just you?” the boat captain asked after a moment, surprise edging into his tone. 

They’d been expecting a whole royal retinue, maybe, when they’d heard they were off to escort a prince of the Fire Nation inside their walls. Zuko eyed his small huddle of luggage self-consciously. He was—he knew how he looked. Royalty was a loose fit on him, at best, and had been for years. But Grandfather had tasked his father with selecting a Cultural Liaison for the Northern Water Tribe, and his options were… limited, considering what would have been appropriate from the royal family of one nation to another. Zuko felt Azula’s parting barb at him dig under his ribs again, reminding him why she hadn’t been considered for the task: _Father is only sending you because he doesn’t want to waste anyone worthwhile on the Water Tribes_.

But Zuko had hoped that the reason behind his father’s choice wouldn’t be—obvious, to his hosts. He needed this to go well, and the last thing he wanted was for his first impression to be an offended, _This is all you have to offer?_

Zuko bit back the urge to make excuses, or try to justify himself, aware how flimsy any argument he could make would sound. Instead he just nodded slightly, unsure what else to say. The man seemed, if not satisfied with that, at least unwilling to press him, though he stared at him a moment longer before turning back to instruct his men to head back toward the city.

The _Ryumaru_ turned to leave even before Zuko had disappeared behind the walls. He watched the shape of it blur behind the frosted ice as the waterbenders sealed their entrance behind them, and then determinedly put it out of his mind. They crossed the bay to where several dozen inlets opened up into a meshwork of carefully crafted waterways, woven with a much more structured city planning than the historic winding streets of the Caldera Downtown. 

Zuko caught the captain watching him and remembered a moment too late to school his expression. He knew he must look like an unworldly fool, but the captain didn’t seem offended, only interested, and Zuko couldn’t completely disguise his awe. The architecture here was so far removed from what he was exposed to in the Fire Nation that the sight of it left him speechless, stretching out before him in rows upon rows down the spidering waterways leading from the bay surrounding the gates. 

The midday sun glanced across the crystalline roofs of the buildings, all seamlessly sculpted. In the light, the edges of the structures were almost as blue as the sky. The sun glanced across the fine details in the walls, so that each segment of the city showed the personality of the artisan responsible for it. It looked as though the whole city was carved from one precious slab of white jade, a work of art in itself and near flawless in its design. The ice was likely smoothed and reshaped by hundreds of hands, a whole community taking responsibility for the vision of the home they occupied. 

Zuko leaned over the side for a closer look.The canals were narrow, the waterways inky blue and deceptively deep. Two boats of this size might be able to slide past one another, with the careful guidance of a watertribe navigator. Even the walls of the waterways were delicately carved, with the sort of breathtaking detail that showed how truly trivial their creations were to the masters that built them, that the gentle lapping of the waves slowly wearing down their hard work was hardly a concern. There were no railings along the walkways, as though the waterbenders couldn’t bear to separate themselves from gentle tug of the currents any more than necessary.

It really was beautiful, but more than that, it was an incredible display of the tribe’s waterbending mastery. 

Zuko could see the palace rising in the distance, diamond white where its towers caught the sun. They followed the canal deeper into the city, until the walkways started to grow more crowded. A few people stopped to stare at them as they passed under a moon bridge spanning the water. Zuko tried to resist the urge to look, but—he glanced up, and caught the eye of a woman bundled up in heavy furs, tugging her knee-height children along with both hands. She faltered as she caught his gaze, and then hastily turned away. Zuko frowned, and turned his gaze on to the next person, whose attention skittered away almost as quickly as hers had. 

He turned then, and his gaze glanced along another boy his age, and he almost turned away from him too, but… Zuko’s breath caught at the sight of him. 

His hair was stark white, the color of freshly fallen snow, sections braided and pulled carefully back into the half-shaved style he’d seen on a few of the other young men. A girl with black hair pulled up into an intricate looping style walked on his right, with an indulgent smile twisting her lips at whatever he was saying. The girl on his left, brown-haired with looping braids framing her face, looked much less amused. 

He threw his hands up animatedly, and the edge of his words caught on the wind, not enough for Zuko to hear what he was saying, but enough to send a strange little thrill through his chest at the passion in his tone.

The boy’s gaze flicked down at the boat then, his attention raking over them and away just as quickly, still caught up in whatever thought had him so riled up. He almost seemed to jolt, glancing back once more at Zuko. Their eyes met, and Zuko felt something warm and uncomfortable rising in his chest as his gaze pierced through him, and the barest hint of surprise crossed his face—

But then his expression shuttered, and the phantom of a grimace passed over him. His mouth snapped shut, and he turned almost immediately on his heel to stalk away. Zuko’s heart dropped through his stomach. The girls faltered in their steps, and followed his gaze as though to find the source of his sudden turn in mood. A look of understanding crossed the black haired girl’s face; a twin expression of contempt flashed through the other girl’s eyes. They both turned away as one to follow after him. 

Zuko twisted his fingers in the front of his cloak and refocused his gaze resolutely on the path ahead. He took a breath to steady himself, because—because it was cold, and then another, because it didn’t matter, he wasn’t here for any of those people, and it didn’t matter—

“How does it feel?” the captain asked. 

Zuko startled. He turned and found the captain staring at him curiously. His heartbeat felt a little too quick in his chest. Over the captain’s shoulder, he thought he saw the boy and his companions turning the corner. He resisted the urge to look.

“How—what?” Zuko asked.

“How does it feel to be the first Fire National to pass through the walls in almost a century?” he asked. The words felt well practiced, the sort of thing he was sure they’d discussed in their council meetings as the details of the cultural exchange were being finalized. 

The first in almost a century. A new era of peace. 

But the way the man said it made it feel like there was something else layered beneath his words. Even Zuko, who at eighteen was by far the youngest on the boat, could remember the war. He’d been ten years old when the Fire Nation began withdrawing from the Earth Kingdom, thirteen when—when the rest happened, and his grandfather had formally reached out to the other nations, and the peace talks had finally, officially begun. It wasn’t a long time, after a century of war. Zuko straightened his spine under the scrutiny, suddenly tense, and very aware of the way the man was looking at him.

“It’s an honor to be welcomed into your city,” Zuko responded, tense and ever polite. The man snorted faintly—or maybe he was just huffing from the cold—and turned away again to steer them around another bend.

They crossed through a wide courtyard dotted with enormous sculpted vases and ascended the stairs to the palace. The halls echoed strangely. It was surprisingly warm inside for a building carved entirely from ice, though compared to the warmth of the Fire Nation, Zuko still found himself tugging his robe slightly tighter as he trailed through the halls. He braced himself once they passed from the echoing halls of the outer palace into the inner palace chambers. Slowly the cold austerity of the entryway gave way to something warmer and softer, decorated with woven tapestries and furs. The corridors were much less cavernous here, and slightly rounded at the ceiling. Zuko found himself glancing up and wondering whether the curving architecture was an artistic choice, or simply a more natural shape for a waterbending sculptor to form.

A wide door marked the end of the hallway. There were no guards posted outside, and his guide seemed unconcerned with announcing him. He pushed his way into the room without so much as a knock. 

Several men were gathered around a table inside, some sitting, some standing and leaning, all conversing casually with one another. Zuko hesitated. He had prepared himself for a throne room, not a meeting hall, or whatever this was supposed to be. This looked less like a chief and his advisors and more like… he was interrupting a more private gathering, far too informal for it to possibly be appropriate for Zuko to interject. 

All of the careful mental preparation he’d done left him in an instant, looking at the men all crowding around the table. Zuko took them all in quickly, but none of them seemed to be wearing a crown, or royal robes, or really anything that might set them apart.

Was one of them the chief? The Northern Water Tribe wasn’t like the Fire Nation, or the Earth Kingdom. His grandfather’s ministers had described the North as a monarchic chiefdom, and had given very little else in detail. But he knew the chief wasn’t… technically a king… Should he bow? Zuko had never met the man before, but _not recognizing him_ felt like a poor excuse to not show him the proper respects in his own palace. His grandfather would never accept an excuse like that, nor would his father.

Oblivious to Zuko’s thoughts, his guide leaned against the doorway casually and hooked a thumb in his direction. 

“Chief,” he said.

One of the men leaning over the table glanced up. 

“Ah, Prince Zuko,” he said. Chief Arnook glanced behind Zuko very briefly, but he took his lack of retinue in stride, refocusing his attention solely on him. He left his men to join Zuko by the door. Zuko made every effort not to tense under the man’s gaze. “It’s good to meet you. How are you liking the city so far?”

“It’s beautiful,” Zuko said honestly. Chief Arnook nodded approvingly. His fondness for his city was clear in his expression. He probably thought that Zuko’s praise was by rote. 

Almost everything that the Fire Nation knew about the Water Tribes was from the Southern Water Tribe, and… well. Zuko had seen paintings in his history texts during his schooling. He’d been warned that they likely wouldn’t be accurate to the modern Agna Qel'a, but to say that they were inaccurate was an incredible understatement. 

Those hundred year old paintings hardly held a candle to what he’d seen even on the short boat ride to the palace. 

“I know you’ve come a long way, so you can relax for today,” Chief Arnook said. 

If anything that made Zuko more tense. He was… well, he’d expected to start right away. Did he look so tired that the chief thought he wouldn’t be able to learn his new duties properly, or…? No, he was probably just trying to be a good host. 

Zuko nodded his thanks, but tried to stand a little straighter, anyway, in case he looked like he wasn’t giving the chief his full attention. 

“We’ve prepared a welcome banquet for tonight, if you’ll join us?” Chief Arnook asked. 

“I would be honored,” Zuko said. 

“As would we,” he said. “Once you’re settled, you can begin preparing for your duties here. We’ll start by giving you a primer on our culture and history, to orient you. My daughter has volunteered to guide you.” 

There was a hint of pride in his voice at the mention of his daughter. 

“She’s quite the capable teacher,” Chief Arnook added. “Of course, we hope that you can teach us as much as you can learn from us.” 

He’d been prepared thoroughly before his journey, and sent along with a stack of assorted documents nearly the length of his forearm, full of information on the Fire Nation’s history and culture that had been deemed acceptable to share with the Northern Water Tribe. He’d studied them thoroughly on the _Ryumaru_ , and had been dismayed to find that quite a bit had been… updated, since he’d last met with his history tutor. Those papers were stuffed into the bottom of one of his trunks, now, wrapped in oilcloth to protect them from the damp during his journey. It was going to take time to get through them. 

Zuko swallowed thickly and nodded. If he could do well enough in his role here and learn from the Northern Water Tribe… then he’d be an expert, and maybe that knowledge would be worth enough to secure him a position in… in the Fire Palace, even, and maybe—

He shouldn’t get ahead of himself. 

“My daughter was meant to join…” Chief Arnook trailed off, as the latch clicked open behind Zuko. “Ah, there she is.”

Zuko’s greeting stuck to his tongue, caught off guard when he recognized the black haired girl with the looping hairstyle from the canal. She was still wearing the same heavy purple fur coat, rosy-cheeked from the cold as though she’d only just come inside moments ago. She held herself like she was slightly out of breath and trying not to show it, lips pressed into a polite smile.

“It’s you,” Zuko said, before he could stop himself. She didn’t seem surprised to see him. 

“This is my daughter, Princess Yue,” the chief said. “You’ve met?”

“Not really,” Zuko said. “We crossed paths on the canal, along with, uh…” Zuko trailed off. He was half-way through gesturing vaguely at his hair before he felt self conscious and tucked his hands back into his sleeves. 

“Prince Sokka,” Chief Arnook guessed, catching his meaning anyway. “Spirits only know where that boy’s run off to.” 

_Prince Sokka_. He thought of the boy he’d seen walking alongside the princess. It—made sense, that he was a prince. He had—a striking sort of look to him, and… Zuko felt dangerously close to flushing, and he didn’t have the cold to blame. He felt the princess’s gaze on him and very pointedly fixed his attention on Chief Arnook, instead.

Thankfully, the chief didn’t seem to notice his fumbling. He glanced back into the room, toward the men gathered there. “Hahn?”

One of the young men glanced up, a little too quickly, like he’d been eavesdropping and was doing a poor job of concealing it—a skill, Zuko thought privately, that they mastered at a much younger age in the Fire Palace. 

The chief either didn’t notice his impropriety or didn’t mind. He waved him over to join them. “I’d like you to show Prince Zuko around.”

With obvious reluctance, Hahn peeled away from the table.

“Of course,” Hahn said, though he made no attempt to match his expression to the false-eagerness of his tone. He nodded to the chief, to Princess Yue, and then—

—without sparing more than a single glance in Zuko’s direction, he made for the door. Zuko, who’d been half-way through offering his hand to introduce himself properly, stared after the man, then let his hand drop. Zuko glanced back at Princess Yue. Her smile had gone a bit thin, and she nodded a little apologetically when she caught his eye. When he turned back, his guide was already gone. 

Zuko hastily made his bows and followed the man out. 

The fires in the great hall were roaring, and between the crush of bodies around him and the heavy fabric of his robes, warmth was finally working its way back into Zuko’s fingers. He was starving, after going straight from his travels to a whole day of keeping his breathing carefully measured against the cold wind sweeping off the canals and down the twisting halls of the palace. Hahn had shuffled him through what must have been the world’s most unenthusiastic tour, which had seemed at the same time designed to subject him to the gawking of as many curious onlookers as possible.

Zuko wouldn’t say the looks he’d received since he’d arrived at the banquet were… unkind, per se, but he’d definitely felt the tension behind their stares as he was led inside and abandoned to his seat at the table. He understood. He did. A century of war could hardly be smoothed by less than a decade of peace time, and Zuko didn’t expect it to be. He was used to the scrutiny, anyway, and for much more personal reasons than being the first person from the Fire Nation in a hundred years allowed within the city’s walls. He straightened just slightly under the weight of their carefully guarded stares.

This would be easier if he hadn’t grown so used to being alone in the hours between visits from his tutors. The last banquet Zuko could remember attending, he’d been young enough to hide behind his uncle’s robes. The war hadn’t even _ended_ yet, and it wasn’t the same anyway, because no one expected a child to be charming, or to know what to say. 

But building a relationship with the Water Tribes wasn’t _meant_ to be easy. Father never would have offered the position to him, if it was a simple task. That was the entire point of giving him a chance to prove himself. 

The chair next to him scraped back roughly, startling Zuko from his thoughts. He glanced over and froze. 

Prince Sokka spared him a glance, and for a moment a mix of emotions passed over his face, warring too quickly for Zuko to read them. The look he settled on was more than familiar, though: clearly unhappy to see him, but with a determined set to his shoulders—barely tolerating his presence, and only due to his… obligations as the chief’s son, Zuko guessed. It was the same look he’d received from most of his tutors, or the spare staff in his estate, unable to say no to the Fire Lord’s demands of them, but certainly wishing they were anywhere else. 

Zuko snuffed a little spark of annoyance, a privately self-conscious part of him scraping against the edges of his temper. He hadn’t _done_ anything, and _he_ didn’t want to sit here ignoring rude stares _either_. Zuko turned his gaze resolutely back across the table. Chief Arnook was seated across from him. Princess Yue was at his side, with the same brown-haired girl he’d seen walking along the canal with them earlier. 

Thankfully, they weren’t forced to sit in stiff silence for long. The chief stood from his position at the table, and the conversation in the hall lulled into hushed whispers as the other guests waited for him to speak. It was just one more difference from the severe dinners hosted in the Fire Nation, that the chief had to pause a moment to wait for the last threads of conversations to die down.

“Tonight, we celebrate the arrival of Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation,” Chief Arnook said. A heavy silence fell over the hall, broken only by the crackle of the fires, and the chief’s commanding voice. “All of our nations have suffered, after nearly a century of war. As the three nations begin to remember what it means to be at peace, we hope to re-open our borders, to welcome the world back behind our walls—”

Zuko noticed the princess’s companion staring very intently at Prince Sokka. Their poorly-concealed scowls were nearly identical. That seemed… a strange reaction. Did they not want the Northern Water Tribe to shed their isolationist policies, now that the war was over?

The chief gestured to Zuko’s seat, and his attention snapped back too late—he’d lost the thread of his speech. Everyone turned to look at him, and his heart thumped under the weight of their collective stares. 

Zuko forced himself stiffly to his feet and bowed. He avoided looking at the rest of them when he raised his head. The chief’s expression was not unkind, at least, and that alone made him relax marginally. Beside the chief, Princess Yue’s smile twitched, just barely. Zuko resisted the urge to glance at Prince Sokka, certain she was reacting to whatever he’d done to catch her gaze.

Zuko sat down again. He clenched his fists over his knees beneath the table. His fingers felt clumsy and faintly numb, this time not because of the cold. 

“You can consider this your first real introduction to Water Tribe culture,” he said. Zuko nodded stiffly. He hoped he hadn’t been too obvious, in allowing his attention to wander, that the chief wouldn’t think he wasn’t taking his duties seriously. He did his best to exude polite attention, as the chief added, “We look forward to building an alliance that will strengthen both our nations.” 

This was why he was here, he had to remind himself, not to attend banquets or wonder at the prince’s strange reactions to him. 

“Now Master Pakku and his students will perform,” Chief Arnook said. 

Relief rushed through him as the attention swept away again, down to the other end of the table, where several waterbenders had gathered. Zuko had assumed the fixtures in the corners of the room were statues, but they turned out to be functional reservoirs. The waterbenders swept their arms up and drew the water from inside them, and the students took their positions before the master. 

The girl beside the princess glared briefly at the waterbenders, then rolled her eyes and turned away. Zuko glanced back at them, but it looked—well, it looked impressive to him, but the extent of his experience with waterbending had been gathered today. The rest of the audience seemed to appreciate the display, too, as the benders worked through their forms. 

The staff took the show as their cue to begin serving the banquet hall. The center of the table was quickly stacked with dishes piled with white pickled fish, giant sea crab, and seaweed stew. One of the servants leaned past the chief with a giant bowl of soup, and then began filling the princess’s bowl with bits of bright red poached squid floating in a clear broth. 

There was some kind of stewed shriveled fruit that vaguely resembled an ocean kumquat, but tinged purple and boiled within an inch of its life. Zuko eyed it skeptically as another servant scooped a heaping ladle into his bowl, with a look on her face like she was gifting him some great treat. 

Everyone else seemed to be serving themselves from the platters settled at the center of their tables, save for Zuko’s table. The chief and the princess sat back patiently as the servants leaned around them. Beside Princess Yue, the brown-haired girl was still shooting rude glances at the waterbenders. The venom in her expression reminded him so much of Azula that he glanced quickly away, before she caught him staring and decided to turn that look on him instead. 

Prince Sokka leaned forward across the table and picked up one of the serving forks set on a platter of seal steaks. Almost as quickly, a servant materialized at his elbow and politely wrestled it from his hand. He huffed and settled back again, and watched dully as she dressed his plate for him. 

A polite scattering of applause signaled the end of the waterbending demonstration. It wasn’t until the benders had returned to their tables that Princess Yue reached for her chopsticks. Zuko followed her lead, but then paused again, uncertain how exactly to tackle the giant sea crab leg that had been foisted on him. Was there a dignified way to eat something larger than his head? 

He settled on the not-ocean-kumquats instead, which were much squishier than they looked, and incredibly salty, but overall not… not offensive. Zuko chewed slowly, pointely did not focus too much on the texture, and hoped that impression held through the whole mouthful.

Prince Sokka kept cutting glances across the table. Zuko tried to follow his gaze subtly. The princess and the brown-haired girl were leaning their heads together just slightly to combat the din of conversation in the room. She turned and murmured something in Princess Yue’s ear that made her hastily stifle a laugh behind her hand. 

Prince Sokka probably wished he was on that side of the table, seated next to the princess, instead of over here with him...

But when he glanced back at Prince Sokka he had turned away again, the smallest frown twisting his lips. The prince seemed preoccupied, picking at a stray thread on his glove. His white hair was tied back, with tiny braids twisted through the strands, but a few flyaway hairs had worked their way loose to the point where they clung to his forehead in the warm heat of the great hall. With his gaze cast down toward his hands, his eyelashes dusted lightly against his cheeks. Backlit by the fire in the hearth, he may as well have been glowing, warm flickers of light dancing across his brown skin.

Agni, he was...

As though sensing Zuko’s gaze on him, he glanced up. Zuko quickly turned toward his tea, face burning, and, shit, he was pretty sure he’d caught him looking. He picked up his tea cup, pointedly staring ahead, and took a sip—

—and promptly choked, because the drink was warm and fermented and strangely _viscous_ , and absolutely not _tea_. The sourness startled him so much that he inhaled a mouthful of the stuff and set himself off into another fit of coughing. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw Prince Sokka turn on him with a strange look, then quickly away again. Zuko coughed and shoved the offending _whatever the hell that was_ away from him, face burning. Oh, that was just—great, definitely a great way to make an impression. His cheeks burned. It was only the phantom memory of stinging welts from strict etiquette teachers that kept him from propping his elbows on the table to bury his face in his hands. 

Water Tribe dining customs were incomprehensible. Halfway through the meal, before their chief had even finished eating, people started to rise from their seats. After another moment, the princess rose from her seat too, and almost at once the prince was gathering his plate to go seize the empty seat next to the brown haired girl. Several of the men just got up and… left, completely, pushing through the doors to the hall without a word. Zuko watched them go with envy, wondering what obligations they were leaving for. Within minutes Zuko was sitting at a little island of his own. 

Most of the early-risers were gathering in circles around the room. This, at least, was somewhat familiar—the post-dinner conversation that Zuko had always been whisked away to bed before he could join.

He’d begged to be allowed to stay for those discussions, too, because Lu Ten had told him that that was where the _real_ political dealings took place. He’d always been too eager, though at least his cousin had had the good sense to send him away, and tell him he was too young...

Zuko had half a moment to wonder what he should do now. Did he stay where he was? Should he join one of the circles? Would anyone notice if he just _left_ , like the men he’d seen sneak out as soon as their plates were empty?

Someone tapped him on the shoulder before he could decide. 

“Prince Zuko,” Princess Yue said. She gestured back toward one of the groups, settled by the great fire at the edge of the room. “Would you like to join us?” 

“Oh,” Zuko said, wanting literally nothing less, “Of course. Thank you.” The princess glanced across the table.

“Sokka, Katara,” Princess Yue said. “Would you like to join us?” 

There was an excruciatingly long pause, where both Prince Sokka and the girl, Katara, exchanged a silent look with Princess Yue. Katara crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back slightly to bump shoulders with Prince Sokka, expression very quickly souring. 

Prince Sokka glanced down the table at him and briefly caught his eye. The same carefully shuttered expression had slotted back into place, stiff and unnatural compared to the expressiveness he’d shown moments ago when he was speaking with Katara.

“...I think we’ll pass,” Katara said. 

Princess Yue frowned just slightly, but sighed and nodded for Zuko to follow her back toward the fire. She settled down in an empty seat next to Hahn, who seemed to be leading the circle. He brushed a hand down her arm when she sat, but she hardly glanced at him before he’d turned to give Zuko a shrewd look. 

Princess Yue gestured to the free seat opposite her in the circle. Zuko nodded and settled down on his knees. Several other young men and women, mostly his age or a little older, were sitting with their legs crossed, some leaning casually, some holding drinks. He shifted around to mimic the way they were sitting, hands settled on his knees for want of something to occupy them. The conversation had quieted slightly when he joined them. He straightened a little under their attention.

“Hello,” he said. Should he introduce himself? He resisted the urge to shift uncomfortably. “Zuko here, uh—” Actually, they probably all knew who he was already. And—the welcome banquet was _for him_ , so of course they did, that was stupid. They were all looking at him now. Zuko gave a small bow and finished hurriedly, “Thank you for inviting me.”

He glanced at Princess Yue for guidance, but she only smiled encouragingly at him. Another beat of silence passed as they watched him expectantly. 

“Typically, we begin by offering our guest an opportunity to speak,” Hahn prompted, looking a little annoyed to have to explain.

“To… speak?” Zuko asked. 

“To share a story,” Princess Yue explained. 

Oh. Zuko glanced around again, and saw that they were all watching him, waiting for him to say something. 

“I’m not... I’m not sure I have a story,” Zuko said. 

He hadn’t expected to be—put on the spot like this. In the Fire Palace, at least, his presence had been… ignored wasn’t the right word, but his father had certainly expected him to be seen more than heard. He racked his brain for something suitable, trying to imagine what sort of stories they might tell. He wasn’t a war hero, like his uncle or Lu Ten. He’d never been a particularly impressive bender, like his father or Azula. He’d never seen battle. He’d hardly seen anything at all these last five years, beyond the walls of the small estate settled on the outskirts of the Fire Nation archipelago. 

Zuko doubted they’d care to hear those stories, because it had been the same thing every day, mostly, seeing his tutors and then returning to the training grounds to practice his firebending again and again. The only real relief from the monotony of it had been his once weekly sword training, which had been an exciting break in his routine for him, but wasn’t that interesting to hear about.

And, well. He supposed he’d snuck out one or twice but that—he wasn’t supposed to, and somehow he’d never been caught, so no, he couldn’t possibly tell them that—

“I’m sure you have at least one,” Hahn prompted. For a moment Zuko was confused, but then Hahn’s glaze flicked very pointedly to Zuko’s left, eyebrow raised. 

Zuko sucked in a sharp breath, teeth clenched so tightly that his jaw ached, the sound a sharp grind in his ears.

“Hahn,” Princess Yue hissed. Hahn glanced at her, seeming almost confused by her reaction. 

Zuko’s fingers clenched into a fist at his side before his sense caught up with him. 

(What was he doing?) 

He took a breath. 

( _Calm down, calm down_.)

He couldn’t start picking fights now, on his very first night in the palace. Zuko forced his fingers to uncurl, one by one.

“...The Fire Nation doesn’t have much of an oral storytelling tradition,” Zuko said, and somehow managed to keep his tone neutral.

“Well, you’d better learn, if you’re staying here,” Hahn said. 

Yue frowned. Somehow, Zuko managed another nod. 

The girl beside him leaned forward and cleared her throat, a little awkwardly. The tension eased, somewhat, as she started in on her own story.

Zuko tried to listen, but he could hardly focus, frustration crawling beneath his skin. His chest felt tight, too hot, and he glanced toward the hearth just to double check that it wasn’t flickering with his breath.

He tried to focus his attention on her story, and—oh.

“He was carrying this basket of fish over his head, and I could see the weave straining,” the girl said. “He’d filled it _way_ too full, but he wanted me to _stop telling him how to do his job_ ,” she dropped her voice, and a few people laughed, in anticipation of the punchline—

Oh, he was stupid. 

He’d assumed they expected... a war story of some kind, or even a hunting story, or something—at least impressive, like the updates his father had always given his grandfather about Azula’s accomplishments. But no, he could have just told them any story, or made something up. Instead he’d made an ass of himself, and disrespected their traditions when learning their traditions was the whole reason he was _here_.

He’d thought he was prepared for this, but so far nothing had gone right, from his too-thin robes to his awkward fumbling. At least none of them were paying attention to him anymore, except Princess Yue, who kept shooting him kind looks when she caught his eye. The girl finished her story, and everyone laughed. The sound grated on his nerves. Princess Yue opened her mouth to say something, and, oh no, she was—going to try to be helpful, and give him a second chance—

The banquet hall was suddenly too much—the fires too hot, the conversations too loud, the weight of their stares too heavy. The need to get out of the room was crawling under his skin, and it was all he could do to clench his fists tight in his lap and try to keep his head.

“I’ve traveled a long way,” Zuko interrupted, before Princess Yue could speak. It was inappropriate to leave so early, but what did that matter? He’d already made a poor impression, if he was any more of a disappointment—well, that was just who he was, surely they’d grow used to it soon. “I think I’ll retire early.”

“Oh,” Princess Yue said. “Of course. Do you need someone to show you to your room?”

The _last_ thing he wanted was a repeat of the afternoon’s tour—

“ _No_ ,” Zuko said, and he was immediately ashamed of how snappish his tone was. His frustration with himself for making a poor impression was bleeding through, but he’d… they were hardly making it easy on him, with their dislike of him written plainly on their faces. Zuko wasn’t certain he could stand the scrutiny of whatever reluctant person the princess might force to be his guide. 

Princess Yue had been nothing but kind, though, and she didn’t deserve his temper. Zuko forced himself to his feet. She didn’t even look offended, just smiled in that quietly understanding way of hers, and that only made him feel more guilty.

“I’ll manage, Princess, thank you,” Zuko added, almost an apology. Truthfully, his tour of the palace had hardly been useful. Hahn had seemed as though he was trying to just get it over with, and so he’d gone very quickly and mostly just waved in the general direction of the hallways which held the rooms he described. Zuko was fairly confident he could make it back to the right hallway, at least. He’d figure it out on his own from there.

A rush of cold air swept in from the hall as he pulled the door open, and it took all his self-restraint not to glance self-consciously over his shoulder, to check who might be watching him go.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This update and the next were originally going to be one chapter, but it was getting super long, so we had to split it into two. We promise there will be more Sokka in the next one, and it shouldn’t be too long of a wait!

Zuko’s chambers were cold. The room was larger than he was used to, with an alcove in the entryway and a whole space along the side to take guests, plus the writing nook pressed into the back corner of the bedroom. He wasn’t sure what they thought he would use all this space for, because it wasn’t like he knew anyone in the city to entertain. As it was, it just made the rooms lonely and difficult to warm.

He lit the fire in the hearth with a deliberate slowness, trying to squash the frustration simmering under his skin. He was still exhausted from his travels, but a distracting buzz had settled over him. These sorts of social functions had never been his strong suit, and he was painfully aware of how little practice he’d had in the last few years. Every little mistake was running on a loop in his mind, all the little ways he’d started on the wrong foot. He knew that if he tried, sleep wouldn’t come easily. 

He crouched by the fire, watching the flames swell and shrink, until the room wasn’t quite so cold and his breathing was a little more steady. Zuko took another deep breath, trying to calm his own treacherous heart, then two more, before he had to admit that he was stalling. 

The writing desk had been stacked with paper and ink ahead of his arrival. He sat at the desk without bothering to dress down and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper.

Technically, it had been his grandfather who had tasked him with traveling to the North, but… no, he should—he should write directly to his father, instead. His father was the one who had chosen him to represent the Fire Nation, and so he‘d expect Zuko to keep him informed. He’d want… updates, maybe, or… well, he’d trusted Zuko with the job, so he’d at least want to know that Zuko was doing as he was told.

Zuko wasn’t quite sure what to write, though, so he kept it terse and to the point. He was meant to be a cultural liaison here, so he wrote a quick summary of what he’d gleaned of their culture in his first day, a detail of how integral their bending was to life in Agna Qel’a, from their passage through the wall down to the architecture of the city, and the sheer impressive size of maintaining such a project. He managed only a couple paragraphs, leaving out most of the details about the reception banquet after some thought. He doubted his father cared to hear that he was relaxing on his very first day, rather than immediately beginning with the lessons necessary to fulfill his duties.

He felt a little pang of anxiety at that thought—but no, what was he supposed to do? It wasn’t as though he could turn Chief Arnook down. Anyway, the food was part of their culture, too, so he had technically been doing his job… but of course, he’d been so nervous he hadn’t even thought to ask what any of the dishes were called, so clearly he hadn’t been doing it well—

He struck out the last few lines. He’d mention the cuisine in the next letter. Zuko briefly considered adding that his journey to the Northern Water Tribe had been smooth, but decided against it. He didn’t want to waste his father’s time. 

(Although most likely his father wouldn’t even read it, and would pass it along to one of his grandfather’s ministers. Father was too important to bother with the correspondences of one cultural liaison...) 

Once he’d written it all out, Zuko reconsidered what he’d written. He edited slightly, to remove some of the unnecessary personal details. Then he rewrote the whole page, as though he’d never made any edit-worthy errors in the first place, and deemed it good enough to sign and seal. 

Zuko didn’t know where the aviary was. Did the Water Tribe _have_ an aviary, or something like it? He wasn’t actually certain how well a Fire Nation messenger hawk would tolerate the cold, but surely they had something equivalent? Maybe they could just have one of their waterbenders carry the message over-water, ships sped along by their bending and a deft mastery of the currents. He didn’t know. He’d have to ask tomorrow, if he found the right moment. 

Zuko’s trunks had been unloaded in front of the closet, but left untouched by the servants for the sake of his privacy. He unpacked them all himself, thumbing the edges of each robe, trying to gauge which ones looked warmest. He set that one aside for the morning, and then turned to coax the fire lower in the hearth, dimming the light. He was tired, and the furs draped over the Water Tribe style bed looked extremely inviting.

Zuko woke with the first light of dawn, from dreamless sleep to wide awake in a blink. The fire had reduced to nothing but ashy coals in the night, and he quickly re-lit the flame before rising into the frigid room. He tugged on his robes to stave off the chill, and then moved to stand by the hearth where the heat of the fire could warm his back through the fabric. The sun was barely rising, and from his window he could look out on the city below. The ice looked almost purple beneath the creeping light of sunrise, the walkways empty and quiet.

He’d been told that Princess Yue would be orienting him today, but he hadn’t had the chance to ask her where they should meet. Zuko paced around the room for a few minutes, uncertain whether he should wait for her or go to find her on his own. He wasn’t sure where he’d begin to look for her. But maybe she was already expecting him, and if he waited instead…

He didn’t want to be late. His letter was still settled neatly on the middle of his desk. Zuko slid it into his pocket carefully and turned for the door.

Zuko retraced his steps from the night before. The halls of the guest wing were oppressively quiet, separated as it was from the rest of the palace. Given the Northern Water Tribe’s isolation, he doubted they’d seen many guests in the last century, and so he didn’t expect to run into anyone until he’d passed out through the grand foyer and into the other side. He didn’t know where Princess Yue was, but he had to assume that if he made his way back toward the chief’s throne room (meeting hall?) he’d find someone who could point him in the right direction.

But—the halls were empty, even of staff. He’d been hoping for a servant, or someone who was just passing along on their way, but somehow he found himself standing frozen outside the chief’s door. He almost turned around and fled. He would never, ever even dream of disturbing the Fire Lord for something like this. But… he’d seemed open to guests, yesterday. There’d been half a dozen men milling about in the room, so even if the Chief couldn’t help him, maybe one of them...

Should he knock? His guide yesterday didn’t knock. 

He knocked. 

There was an excruciatingly long pause, wherein Zuko was beginning to wonder if maybe no one was home, before the door finally swung inward. Chief Arnook looked confused, but his expression quickly cleared when he realized who was knocking. 

“Good morning, Prince Zuko,” Chief Arnook said. “You’re up early.” 

He sounded surprised, but... he probably didn’t mean anything by it. Zuko _had_ come a long way, so maybe he’d just expected him to be slow to start, still tired from his travels. 

“We rise with the sun in the Fire Nation,” Zuko said. “Uh, I’m sorry to disturb you.” 

“I suppose you’re looking for my daughter,” he said. Zuko nodded. “I might have an idea where to find her.”

Chief Arnook led him outside to the courtyard he’d passed on the way into the palace. The sculptures that had framed the stairwell had changed shape, and when they tracked around to the side of the building he could see why. A small group of waterbending students had gathered, with the water from those sculptures drawn out and refrozen within reach. The class was being led by Master Pakku. Zuko spotted several of the other benders who’d performed at last night’s banquet, and a handful more young men observing. 

Princess Yue was seated at the very edge of the group, set apart from the young men. She looked focused, mapping their movements with her gaze, subtly jotting notes on a page half-hidden inside her sleeve. 

The sound of their boots on the ice floor drew a few quick glances from the students. Princess Yue glanced up with them and froze like a rabbit-deer. She quickly climbed to her feet. Chief Arnook frowned, eyebrow raised. 

Zuko folded his hands into his sleeve, twisting the fabric of the seam between his forefinger and thumb. The forms the waterbenders were practicing now looked advanced. Zuko was interrupting her training, probably, and of course the chief couldn’t be pleased for her to be wasting her time with him when she should be focusing on her bending. 

When he and Azula were children, Father had always ordered that they not be interrupted when they were practicing their firebending. Even at the estate, the training grounds had been off limits to anyone other than Zuko and his mentors to prevent distractions from hampering his progress.

Not that his progress had been particularly impressive, with or without distractions. This class looked rigorous, though, with only a handful of students. No doubt anyone who was ready to learn these forms was practically a master in their own right. 

The disapproving look on Chief Arnook’s face followed the princess as she walked over to join them, though he looked more exasperated than upset. She ducked her head in apology, and the chief’s expression thawed somewhat. 

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Chief Arnook said. 

“I’m sorry if I kept you waiting,” Princess Yue said. He shook his head. It was his fault for forgetting to ask her where to meet.

She led him up the winding steps of one of the palace’s towers. By the time they reached the top he was warm again, and she was flushed and smiling almost apologetically at the trek. 

“We’ll take what we need down to the study rooms,” she said.

The archive looked nothing like the Fire Nation’s. It was less functional as a workroom, with most of the documents stored in tightly sealed crates to protect them from the damp. The ones they needed had been set aside for them by the archivist. 

Princess Yue handed him one of the empty boxes to carry their selection with, and then began to rummage through the collection. The boxes held scrolls, loose parchment and books, as well as stranger items inscribed on stone, pressed into metal, or etched onto animal hide, some so old they were faded and stringy with time. Zuko wondered at where they’d gathered it all, and when, considering the isolationist policies of the Northern Water Tribe for the last century. It certainly wasn’t all Water Tribe, some of the items bearing the tell-tale marks of the Earth Kingdom and even Fire Nation. 

He could see no real pattern to what she was picking, other than that she clearly knew what she was looking for. He felt a little silly, doing nothing to help her beyond standing there and holding the box. 

“I’m sorry for interrupting your training this morning,” Zuko said, trying to fill the silence. 

She looked a little puzzled when she glanced up at him, before understanding dawned. She shook her head slightly as she added a heavy leather-bound book to the stack. 

“I’m not a waterbender,” Princess Yue said. She saw the confusion on his face and smiled, answering his next question before he could ask. “I was just watching the waterbending instructor, because…” She bit the corner of her lip, but then just as quickly that polite smile was back, barely a blip in her composure. “Well, I suppose it’s educational.”

Zuko couldn’t imagine ever willingly attending his firebending lessons, if he had any choice in the matter. _Learning_ firebending, of course, he’d always been eager, and he’d practiced on his own plenty of times, with the hopes that he might be able to catch up with the extra effort. But the lessons themselves had been brutal, and his mentors had pushed him relentlessly, often to the point of feeling almost heat sick in the tropical weather.

Maybe their lessons were more appealing when she could just watch, without all of the grueling training wearing her down, or the careful eye of a bending master, waiting eagerly for her to slip up. Maybe _his_ lessons would be more appealing, in the cold. 

Princess Yue balanced the last of her selections on top of the pile, so that Zuko had to tilt the box to keep it from sliding off. With everything held carefully steady to keep the top of the stack from toppling, he followed her down the stairs again and into one of the recesses off the main stairwell. The study rooms were private, and much more suited to housing people than the archive stores. 

He was expecting to be taught the aspects of Northern Water Tribe history that their culture most valued. 

It became increasingly apparent, as they worked through the first book, that the topics she’d selected were somewhat… pointed, toward the Fire Nation. She jumped immediately into the beginning of Sozin’s reign, and the Northern Water Tribe’s affairs at the time. Every so often she would glance up at him, as though gauging his reaction. 

Considering that they were forging an alliance between the modern Fire Nation and the modern Northern Water Tribe, it only made sense that they would begin where their historic relations began to break down. 

By the third chapter in her book, she seemed to have relaxed somewhat, satisfied that he wasn’t going to object, or attempt to argue any of the points with her. Truth be told, there _were_ a few points that he had the distinct memory of being taught differently during his own history lessons. Considering the number of… corrections he’d received even in his materials on the Fire Nation’s _own_ history, Zuko was inclined to give the princess the benefit of the doubt.

Besides, the Water Tribe script was honestly a little difficult for him to read, especially in some of the older documents, loopy and written in a style far removed from the Fire Nation’s standard calligraphy, so he really had to take her word for it. 

He’d leaned in to read the cramped handwriting of one of the primary sources, tucked between the pages of her book, when Princess Yue cleared her throat. 

“So... Prince Sokka,” Princess Yue said. His gaze snapped up, caught off guard by the sudden subject change. She set her book down on the table, thumb pressed against the page to keep her place. “I noticed you looking during the banquet last night—” 

Oh _no_. A hot flash of embarrassment rose in his stomach.

“—I’m sure you’re curious about the hair,” she said. 

The feeling washed away just as quickly with a rush of relief. 

“I...Yes. I was,” Zuko said quickly, seizing on the excuse. He'd been looking because he’d noticed his hair, and for no other reason at all. “It’s peculiar.”

“He’s been spirit touched,” she said. “The moon spirit watches over him.”

“Oh,” Zuko said faintly, because how _else_ was he supposed to respond to that? He’d heard stories, of course, mostly from his uncle, but he’d never actually met anyone who’d seen a spirit for themselves, let alone been blessed by one. And the moon itself… It sounded—well, almost like something out of a play. 

“I mention it only because…” she said, “I’m sure you’ve noticed he’s…”

“He doesn’t like me much?” Zuko suggested. He half expected her to make excuses, or offer empty platitudes. He was surprisingly relieved when she didn’t, nodding slightly and casting her gaze back down to her book. There was a beautiful ink drawing of two koi on the open page. She picked at the corner of it with her nail, and when she noticed him looking, she quickly turned the page over. 

“No,” she agreed. She traced the edge of the book with her finger thoughtfully and added, “It’s not personal, though. He has his reasons.”

“I know,” Zuko said. He’d gathered that much for himself. After all, he hadn’t actually _done_ anything, even if he had made a poor first impression.

It wasn’t hard to guess that his reasoning had a lot more to do with the Fire Nation than Zuko himself. He’d received plenty of curt greetings and sharp looks since he’d arrived. Logically he knew that the people of the Northern Water Tribe would get used to his presence, eventually, and even if they didn’t, he wouldn’t have to tolerate it forever. The position wasn’t permanent. 

Zuko wasn’t sure why it had stuck out to him, then, but the look on Prince Sokka’s face when he’d first seen him… It wasn’t like the looks he’d received from the other people his age, or even some of the older warriors in the tribe...

But it would be improper to ask Princess Yue for more details, and it wasn’t like he needed to know to perform his duties anyway. He turned his gaze back down to the book, and she carried on with the lesson like she’d never said anything at all.

Princess Yue apparently had relentless patience. 

A headache had sprung up behind his left eye sometime in the mid-afternoon, and when they finally emerged from the study he was a little surprised to see that the sun had already set. Maybe it was because he’d slept poorly, or maybe he’d just needed more time to recover from traveling, but either way, he was bone tired. He took that first, bracing breath to stave off the cold and felt the exhaustion sink an inch deeper. At least Princess Yue seemed as surprised as he was to see how late the hour had gotten.

She bowed an apology, “We can ask for dinner to be sent to your room, if you’d prefer.”

Somehow, he didn’t have much of an appetite. At least the shock of the cold air had made his headache recede somewhat. The idea of going back to his room and lying down sounded incredibly appealing, but the letter to his father was still burning a hole in the pocket of his robe. Zuko didn’t want to make him wait any longer than necessary. 

“Actually, do you have an aviary? I’d like to send a letter,” Zuko said.

“Of course. I’ll show you,” she said. 

The palace did have an aviary after all, although it was nothing like the one in the Fire Palace, with hundreds of cages of military-trained messenger hawks that could deliver a scroll to nearly anywhere in the world—or, at least, anywhere that the Fire Nation’s influence had spread, in the past one hundred years.

He heard them before he saw them. He’d thought the messenger hawks were loud, hundreds of feathers rustling, the soft peeps that seemed uncharacteristically sweet from a bird so intimidating. These birds… well. There was a lot more squawking.

He could just see the edge of the coops peeking out behind the aviary block. A few white-feathered seabirds were settled on the edge of the roof. One hopped cautiously closer upon seeing them. Their bodies were much smaller than the Fire Nation’s messenger hawks, with impressive wingspans. He’d seen similar birds circling their ship during his voyage to the North Pole, wheeling around and plunging into the waves to catch the fish stirred up in their wake. He wondered whether the little sachet he spotted tied to the bird’s leg was waterproof, or whether the tame ones were trained out of the behavior. 

She bid him goodnight on the stairs, after extracting a promise that he could find his way back to his rooms on his own.

Zuko hurried up the slick steps. The entrance to the aviary opened into an enormous, high-ceilinged room. On one wall, there were rows of cages, and against the other wall were hundreds of tiny cubicles, some stuffed full of scrolls, others standing empty. 

The inside of the room smelled strongly of straw and wet feathers, which didn’t exactly bode well for the safety of his letter, although they had to have some way to keep their correspondences from getting waterlogged. There was a single woman at the back of the room, casually using her waterbending to scrub out the bottom of an empty cage. Zuko watched her for a moment, maybe a bit caught off guard by how flippantly she used her bending for such a mundane task. He stood a moment too long in the doorway, and his presence there caused her to glance up. 

“Just a moment,” she said, and went back to scrubbing as though he wasn’t there. Zuko waited patiently until she finally leaned back and, as though forming a snowball, froze the soiled water into a sphere and set it aside.

“Do you have something for me?” she asked, doing a very poor job of wiping her bird-water hands off on her pant leg. Zuko hesitated a moment, just to see if she might pause to wash her hands. She didn’t, so he resigned himself to risking it and handed the letter over to her. 

“Just this,” he said. He wasn’t certain what exactly the protocol was for sending a letter within the Water Tribe capitol. She barely glanced at it, likely already anticipating who it was meant for, before she set it aside on the counter. Zuko hesitated a moment longer, but she didn’t seem to want anything else from him as she jotted something down in her ledger, so he quickly turned to go. 

“One moment, Prince Zuko. There’s a letter for you as well,” the attendant said. 

That startled Zuko into stopping. He only barely suppressed the incredulous, _From who?_ , pressing against the tip of his tongue. Instead he bit his cheek and nodded, and the woman shuffled back into the other room to fetch it for him. 

He shouldn’t have been surprised to see his uncle’s seal, stiff and chalky white where the cold had drawn the oil out of the wax. 

For his letter to have arrived so quickly, it must have been sent ahead of his ship, perhaps even as soon as they’d set sail. He thumbed the edge of the paper nervously and bowed his thanks. 

He’d been rushed when his father had sent for him. The courier had been delayed by a bad storm on his way to the furthest edge of the Fire Nation’s outer archipelago, and so by the time Zuko had arrived home, he was already days behind schedule, with little time to loiter in Caldera City, even after being away for so long.

A part of him wished he could have stayed in the palace just one extra day before departing. The other part, a smarter part, recalled the look on his Uncle’s face when he’d seen him in the halls, and the way he’d seized Zuko’s wrist, too shocked for words. He was desperately grateful he’d been able to make his excuses and escape. 

Uncle had looked… well, he’d looked surprised, not just to see him in the palace, but by his—

Zuko didn’t know what to say to him. He still didn’t. In his frustration he’d jerked his wrist free from his grip and fled. The _Ryumaru_ had been set to depart within hours of Zuko’s arrival. He’d been summoned to meet with the Fire Lord before Uncle could truly corner him, and then he’d been shuffled off to the docks without so much as a moment to catch his breath. 

But… back then, when it happened, his uncle hadn’t been in the palace, had he? He’d been with Lu Ten, because his headaches had been getting worse, a side effect of the injury he’d suffered during the siege of Ba Sing Se. They’d traveled to one of the neighboring isles for a consultation with a specialist, and had been gone for weeks. 

So. Maybe it was just different, seeing his face in person, rather than simply hearing of it. 

Because—of course he’d heard. How could he have not? _Of course_ he’d heard. His uncle was the crown prince. And… his father had made it very clear that he didn’t care who saw. Zuko touched a thumb to his cheek absently, where the scar met the edge of his mangled ear. 

His memories of the following days were hazy at best, but he did remember being summoned before the Fire Lord as soon as he was able to stand on his own unsteady feet. His grandfather had hardly looked at him when his father requested he be sent away. _For schooling_ , his grandfather had settled on. _Hiding his shame far from the Caldera City nobility_ , his grandfather’s tone had implied.

And he’d left so quickly, he hadn’t even seen his uncle or his cousin return before he’d gone. Those first few weeks in the outer archipelago had been the loneliest of his life, with just him and the single doctor who came like clockwork and left just as quickly as she’d arrived, before she’d deemed him well enough to begin seeing his tutors, and to begin training his firebending again. 

It had taken his uncle a little over a month to write to him, the first letter he’d received since the beginning of his—schooling. He’d been sick with worry when he’d opened it, but… it hadn’t said anything about what Zuko had done at all, and the hope that maybe his uncle wasn’t going to hold his mistakes against him had burst up in his chest so furiously that he’d nearly cried in relief. 

Zuko was beyond crying now, but he did hold the letter with a delicate gentleness. He’d been—short, when Uncle stopped him in the hallway, his temper getting the best of him. He didn’t understand why his uncle felt the need to bring up the most shameful moment of his life so soon after seeing him again, after so long a mutual understanding that they would _never_ speak of it. The dread of whatever the letter in his hand might hold practically burned him through the paper. 

He didn’t want to know what his uncle thought of seeing him again, after so many years of only letters, never acknowledging what Zuko had done, or how he’d shamed them. As though his grandfather had truly only sent him away for schooling like a normal teenager, as pleasant a lie as that that was. 

Zuko waited until he was back to his chambers before he opened the letter. He made it as far as the threshold before he slid down with his back to the door, as though to block the entrance from interruptions, or maybe because he couldn’t bear to wait long enough to reach his tiny study space opposite the bed. 

Zuko half expected Uncle’s letter to pick up that same thread he’d dropped in the Fire Palace hallway, with demands to know… what Zuko thought he was doing showing his face again, maybe, or… or… if he really didn’t know, maybe wanting answers as to what Zuko had done to deserve—

But no, Uncle’s letter read like any other. He could have believed it was old, written to find him at his estate and forwarded after his sudden departure. But there was a hasty slant to his uncle’s handwriting, uncharacteristically rushed, and he’d tacked a jaunty wish for Zuko’s safe travels to the North Pole toward the end. 

Here at the bottom it was signed off not with the usual salutation, but with a much more personal note.

_If you find yourself lonely in the North, please remember I am here for you._

The words settled weighty in his chest. Zuko could see thereafter where he’d begun to write something else, and hastily scratched it out. Zuko held the page to the light to try to make out the words, but the paper was too smudged with ink to tell what it might have said. 

He stared at the paper for a long moment, then read the letter again. Once he was done he folded it carefully, mindful of the creases already in the page. He picked at the edge of the torn wax seal with his thumb. He’d never known his uncle to second guess himself, and the hastily blotted out words seemed out of character, though he didn’t know what to make of that.

Was he lonely? He was, a little, but not—not as much as he’d expected. Princess Yue had been kind, and Chief Arnook had been welcoming. He’d made a bit of a fool of himself, on his first day, but no one seemed to have held it against him—except Prince Sokka, maybe, for reasons beyond Zuko’s control. 

He stayed with his back pressed to the door for a long time, staring at the folded edges of the letter. Then he carefully rose to his feet, crossed the room, and sat down at the desk to begin his reply. 

They fell into a rhythm. It should have been frustrating, the way that Princess Yue introduced new pieces of their history at a seemingly glacial pace compared to what he was used to from his own tutors, but it wasn’t. Not only because she was an excellent teacher, but because it was surprisingly easy, surprisingly _enjoyable_ to study without the looming threat of the next lesson, the next tutor, or falling behind. 

Zuko had learned more Northern Water Tribe royal family members than he knew of his own family, although part of that was the Fire Nation’s emphasis only on the Fire Lord’s immediate line, where the Northern Water Tribe seemed to include the name of every third cousin and adopted heir in their records. 

He had _also_ learned, in a morning where the pervasive tiredness that had seemed to cling to him since he’d arrived at Agna Qel’a had won out against his natural inclination to rise with the sun, that his bedroom shared a wing with one such royal family member. Zuko had very nearly knocked Prince Sokka over in his haste, and gotten a glimpse of the prince sleep-rumpled and soft in the moment before he remembered to glare. 

It made sense, if the other rooms in that wing were anything like the one he’d been assigned. _Zuko’s_ room was certainly fit for a prince. He just… hadn’t been expecting to see anyone else in the guest wing of the palace. He hadn’t expected to see Prince Sokka _at all_ , and had been quietly wondering if he could just… avoid him forever, and cut his chances of making a further fool of himself off at the head. The prince had stomped off before Zuko could even muster a proper greeting, so… he’d gotten his wish, technically, which was for the best. 

Zuko had arrived at what had become their usual meeting spot that morning, flustered and out of breath, only to learn that Princess Yue, distracted by the waterbender’s lessons, hadn’t even noticed his tardiness. 

After Zuko joined her they would walk together to archive to make their selections. They had books that were supposedly written hundreds of years ago, transcribed and bound in pristine leather and modern paper. The Water Tribes had an oral history that she claimed extended back thousands of years, because paper was impractical, exposed to the elements in the North, and their storytelling traditions were important to them. 

(He’d gathered that on the first night, thank you.)

The Northern Water Tribe had only started making a true effort to write their oral history down in the last hundred years or so. 

“The Southern Water Tribe’s history went back almost as far,” she’d told him. “At least, it used to.”

Zuko hadn’t needed to ask why the sudden shift in the last century, from collective memory to paper. 

Chief Arnook had told Zuko that he’d hoped they could learn from him as well, and so he was not really surprised, when Yue used their time to ask questions of her own. She even seemed… truly curious, like she wasn’t just asking out of duty, but because that was what you were supposed to do in a conversation. Like she wanted to get to know him.

She asked him about the Fire Nation, and didn’t seem to judge him when he stumbled over his response, or had to promise to dig through his ridiculous stack of papers for an answer, even though it was the history of his own nation, and he ought to know.

(Would Azula know? A bitter part of him was sure that she would.)

He was stacking books into a precarious pile, one corner hanging off the edge of the desk so that he could get underneath it when it was time to carry them back upstairs. Yue had a seemingly endless well of patience, even when they were working through some of the driest material yet—things he already knew at least partly, like the end of the war and the peace accords. It was incredibly dull and in some cases, word-for-word pulled from the treaties themselves. Zuko supposed after so long in isolation the Northern Water Tribe wouldn’t have had many first-person accounts to keep the material interesting, but he was still impressed by Princess Yue’s ability to maintain enthusiasm through a document crammed full of detached accounts of the accord meetings.

It was important material. He needed to remind himself _these_ were the things he would need to uphold, if he— _when_ he returned the the Fire Nation, and if he was given a larger role—

“You’re a very quick study,” Princess Yue said. She was stacking a much shorter pile of her own books, and smiled at him when she saw his face, and the skeptical look he was just a moment-too-late to reign in. “You’ll probably be ready to learn something more hands-on, soon.” 

Zuko did not like how vaguely she said _hands on_ , or the tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth when she said it. He thought he hid his reaction—dread, mostly—better that time. She picked up her stack, and so Zuko slid his own off the table to follow her. 

“Maybe we can cut back to meeting only once or twice a week soon,” she said. She was only faintly out of breath, and it was actually a little difficult to keep up with her, between the stack of books in his arms and the winding stairs. “You still have to learn navigation, trade, oh, sailing,” she was ticking a finger against the books in her hands with each topic on her list. Zuko wasn’t certain how he was going to learn sailing from a book, but he would take her word for it. 

“What about the other days?” Zuko asked, when they reached the top of the stairs. Agni, he was exhausted. He’d been here, what, a week, and done nothing but study, and yet he had to pause in the doorway to shift the books around in his arms before he dropped them entirely.

“Well,” Yue said, slipping books back into their places. “I can introduce you to some of our artisans. When they have the time to meet you, of course.” She hummed. “My father mentioned taking you hunting, but he’ll probably wait until you’re more ready.” 

Zuko crushed down his impulsive response, that he was ready for anything, and they didn’t need to coddle him. It wasn’t like hunting sounded particularly enjoyable, anyway. 

“I’m looking forward to it,” he lied, somewhat unconvincingly, if the way her lips pursed just slightly was any indication. 

“You haven’t had much free time since you’ve arrived,” Princess Yue said. She dusted her hands of the last book she’d been carrying, and then helped him put away the last of his own stack. “I’m sure you weren’t expecting to spend every day studying.” 

That was exactly what he’d expected, and the sudden threat of more free time was—terrible, really. He didn’t know what he would do to fill the hours. He hadn’t even brought anything _with_ him, except—oh. Well… 

“Do you think,” Zuko said, and then stopped himself. She paused, and waited patiently for him, apparently getting used to Zuko’s awkward fumbling for words. Maybe he should be more embarrassed, that she _had_ grown used to it, but all the kindness in her expression did was encourage him to press on, “Is there somewhere I could use…” He hesitated, unsure how it would make him look to her, and settled on, “For exercise?”

“Exercise?” she asked. He was _not_ going to fidget.

“Training,” he said. “Sword training. I’m not—it’s just for exercise.” 

She looked at him for a moment, and then covered a small laugh with her hand. “You don’t need to be so nervous,” she said. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, feeling his face heat a little. 

“Don't be,” she said. “Yes. I can show you somewhere more private, if you’d prefer?”

“Please,” he said. He felt a bit foolish for asking, but with the way the rest of the tribesmen had looked at him, especially the older ones, the ones who had grown up with the war... The last thing Zuko wanted was for them to think he was trying to—intimidate them, or something, when his presence here was meant to be peaceful.

Not that he could do anything to them with a couple of swords, when they had hundreds of talented waterbenders. His firebending was another matter—he’d made a point of keeping that to a minimum, aside from his evening meditation in his chambers. 

Zuko went to fetch his swords from his room, still carefully wrapped up inside the leather case he’d brought to transport them. Princess Yue led him back the way they’d come, through the courtyard with the columnar ice sculptures bracketing the entryway, and out the other side to a building Zuko hadn’t been inside before. He mentally mapped the turns they took through the hall, until they reached another doorway half-hidden by a hallway alcove. The door caught on a snowdrift as she pushed through, a testament to how few people passed through here. 

This courtyard was much smaller, with a crescent moon bench wrapped around a raised platform, shaped in an almost amphitheater style. She climbed up the short steps to the top of the platform and swept a bit of snow off the top with her boot, more proof to how little use the courtyard saw. 

“Is this all right?” Yue asked, and smiled so genuinely that he was sure she’d be perfectly accommodating if he said no. 

“It’s perfect,” Zuko said, and meant it. “Thank you.”

His footwork was a little unsteady in the loose, powdery snow. Zuko had considered pausing to sweep it all off, but decided against it. Practicing in the less-than-ideal conditions was its own challenge. It would be good for him to push himself. 

Zuko considered feeling guilty, with how many days he’d neglected his firebending training. He certainly needed the practice, as Azula and his father had been happy to remind him when he was younger. After spending so long training for hours on end, every single day, it felt a little strange to not have a firebending tutor breathing down his neck every morning. 

He reasoned that he _was_ technically training his bending as well. He’d been using his breath of fire near constantly since he’d arrived, or at least, any time he was outside in his poorly insulated robes. He certainly _slept_ like he’d been practicing daily, in any case—since arriving, he’d been almost too exhausted even to dream, for how much keeping warm took out of him. 

He hoped that he’d get used to the cold eventually. If his bending was stronger, he wouldn’t have this problem. Maybe with all the practice, he’d improve enough that the measly task of maintaining his body temperature wouldn’t exhaust him anymore.

He’d hoped to work on some of his more advanced sword forms, but even that had felt like too much, so he’d settled for shifting between his intermediate forms and an easier set to cool down, cycling in a rhythm that still seemed to tire him much more than it should have. He was out of practice—

The door to the private courtyard banged open, startling Zuko half-way through his swing, so that his footwork twisted sloppily in the snow. Two voices carried out over the courtyard, too wrapped up in their squabble to realize they weren’t alone. Zuko turned to stare. 

Prince Sokka was in the doorway, arms flung wide as he shouted something. After a moment Katara followed him out, equally heated. 

He sure seemed to spend a lot of time with her, Zuko thought, and forced the thought away again before he could dwell on it. She swept her arm out, too, and the drifts in front of them shifted slightly with the force of her frustration, raking a huge gouge through the snow.

 _A waterbender_ , he thought. Zuko stumbled back before the sweep of snow could meet him, and very nearly slipped again.

“Ah,” Zuko said, and then immediately regretted the startled noise when both of their attentions snapped toward the sound. It was—crushingly awkward, how still they both went when they spotted him, all the energy from their little squabble sweeping out of them.

Zuko readjusted his grip on his dao, and Prince Sokka’s gaze snapped down to his hands. An inscrutable look crossed his face. It only made Zuko more nervous.

“What are you doing here?” Katara asked, pointedly. 

“Princess Yue said I could use this space for exercise,” Zuko said. Katara scowled at him, and Prince Sokka… Prince Sokka was still staring with that same unreadable expression. 

“Do you know how to use those?” Prince Sokka asked skeptically. Was it so strange for him to know how to use a sword? Well... maybe it _was_ strange, certainly for a firebender, but that was only in the Fire Nation. He didn’t know why _they_ would find it strange. 

He felt an indignant flash of temper. “I’m using them now, aren't I?” Zuko said. 

“Well, do you mind? Because I was going to practice,” Katara said. 

Time had gotten away from him. He hadn’t realized how long he’d been outside. The cold was beginning to seep into his boots, even with his constant firebending to keep himself warm. His arms and legs ached, too. There was a steady pressure behind his eyes, not quite a headache, but threatening to turn into one. His fingers had long since gone numb around the hilts of his dao. 

He should probably go inside, anyway. 

Zuko quickly sheathed his swords. He’d left the case propped against the bench, where it was safe from the snow. He shoved the swords inside the case roughly and tucked it under his arm.

Sokka and Katara were both staring at him. Zuko should… say something, but he had no idea what. Maybe they were equally at a loss for words, or more likely they wanted nothing to do with him, because they only stepped quietly away from the door as he turned down the corridor and fled.


	3. Chapter 3

Zuko’s head was pounding. Even the low light of dawn seemed too bright. He rested his eyes, just for a moment, rolled to squint at the window—

Zuko jerked awake. The sun had somehow climbed several inches higher while he wasn’t looking. He sat up and immediately regretted it as the room tilted dangerously sideways. He leaned his head between his knees and tried to breathe through it.

He sat there for several moments, grimly eyeing the distance between the bed and the wastebasket by his desk. 

(Had Agni herself come for him, Zuko would have thanked her.)

Head buried in his hands, he groaned in frustration. The effect was a little ruined when the effort made him cough. He’d… definitely overdone it yesterday, and now… now he was letting it distract him from his duties. He sighed. His whole body ached, as though he’d been put through a punishing firebending drill, instead of the relatively easy sword forms he’d been practicing yesterday.

Zuko dragged the blankets up around his shoulders, fingers made clumsy by the weak shivers wracking his frame. It was _freezing_ , even with how low the fire had burned. He was tempted to check that the window hadn’t fallen open in the night, but he knew that it hadn’t. It was him, not the room, that was cold. 

Zuko drew a bracing breath. Or, he _tried_ to draw a breath, and the effort drew a wet rattle from his lungs. The ache in his chest sharpened to a sting when he tried to use his breath of fire, so he just… didn’t. He would just… deal with it and be cold. Or too hot. He hadn’t decided which he was, yet. 

Zuko swung his feet over the side of the bed, and pressed his thumbs to his eyes until the sparks stopped flying behind them. His head felt like it had been stuffed with cotton, and he felt warm, and vaguely queasy, too much like when his father—

—or, like the time when he’d first taken up his sword training, after. He hadn’t been prepared for just how much _hotter_ the islands could get than Caldera City, and he hadn’t been drinking enough water and... It had probably still been too early for him to do more than light exercise.

This was something else though, shivers and body aches and a disturbing pressure in his chest that he was very pointedly going to ignore—

A cold, he decided. Just a cold.

And—he was late again. Zuko could tell by the slant of the light through the window. He squinted against the sunbeam, wanting nothing more than to crawl back under the covers, and then forced himself to his feet. He didn’t try to stoke the near-dead fire into life with his bending. He’d be leaving in a moment, anyway, and each breath was a little tight in his chest, not good for firebending. He shuffled over to the dresser to change. It took a pathetically long time to thread the pins of his hairpiece through his topknot, fingers shaking, half-leaning on the dresser for support. 

He was a little tempted to drag the blanket with him, after slipping into his too-thin robe, but… that would be undignified, and he wasn’t that bad off. Just tired. He had dealt with much worse, anyway, and a little cold wasn’t enough to set aside propriety for, no matter how tempting the idea. He would just have to find Yue quickly, and hope that whatever she had planned for him would be indoors, preferably seated, and next to a warm fire.

Zuko was a half-step into the hall, head turned to drag the door behind him, when he collided with someone in his haste. He cursed under his breath and almost stumbled, saved by a steadying hand on his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut and sent a silent prayer to Agni for mercy, because he was already sick and tied and _late_ , and _hadn’t he suffered enough_?

(Agni was not listening).

Prince Sokka scowled at him and withdrew his arm. His fingers brushed Zuko’s wrist as he let go, cool against his flushed skin, and Zuko swayed a bit before he got his balance back. A pathetic little part of him thought—that had felt nice. 

He squashed that thought just as quickly, because the prince was fully scowling at him now, and this was—great. Perfect. His morning was just getting better. He hadn’t even paused to check his appearance in the mirror, but at least he was already too flushed, too tired, to feel much embarrassment. 

“Good morning,” Zuko said, and was half-way through a bow before his exhausted brain remembered that Prince Sokka probably wouldn’t appreciate it. Zuko squared his shoulders, and pointedly didn’t look for his reaction. 

Fresh air would be—good, right now. It would probably make it easier to breathe. And Yue hadn’t even noticed that he was late, last time, so maybe if he hurried— 

“Hey.” Zuko almost didn’t stop, but—no, Prince Sokka was definitely talking to him. He paused, blinked a little too slowly to look fully attentive, if the prince’s growing frown was anything to go by. His mind took an embarrassingly long time to catch up. 

“...Hey?”

“You look terrible,” he said. 

Zuko scowled, and resisted the urge to straighten his robes. Too late for that now. “Thanks,” he said.

“I mean,” Prince Sokka said. He glared right back at Zuko, and then at the ceiling. Then he sighed, almost like he was annoyed with _himself_ , and grudgingly added, “Have you seen a healer?”

Zuko stared at him for a moment, baffled. “It’s just a cold,” he said. 

“Dude, it really doesn’t look like a cold,” Prince Sokka said. 

“What, are _you_ a healer?” he snapped.

Prince Sokka scoffed and shook his head. He turned, and started down the hall again. Zuko watched him go for a moment, but before he could turn to continue on his way to finding Princess Yue, the prince stopped again.

He was still grumbling under his breath as he came back down the hall. He grabbed Zuko by the elbow and dragged him along.

“What are you—I’m _fine_ ,” Zuko said, too caught off guard to really resist. 

“Yeah, well, tell that to the healers,” Prince Sokka said. 

“I have to meet Princess Yue,” Zuko tried instead, but that only earned him a quiet, derisive scoff. He dragged Zuko all the way down the hall, and only released his elbow once they’d arrived at the door. Then, squinting back at him to make certain he was following, he stomped down the steps.

Zuko was wrong, fresh air did _not_ make it easier to breathe. It stung his lungs as badly as his breath of fire had. When he tried to draw a deep enough breath to brace against the cold, something twinged painfully in his chest, and he had to pause and lean over as a cough racked his frame. When he’d finally pulled himself together enough to drag a few shallow breaths through his sleeve, he stole a glance at Price Sokka. He was watching him, arms crossed and strangely tense, fingers tapping an urgent rhythm against his elbow. He relaxed a bit when he caught Zuko’s gaze, and the frown returned to his face. 

“You good?” he asked. Zuko nodded wearily. 

Zuko grudgingly followed him out of the palace and across the bridge into the city, casting only one furtive look in the direction of the courtyard where Master Pakku lead his waterbenders, on the off chance that Princess Yue might be on her way to meet him, and might rescue him from being dragged away from their lessons. Prince Sokka turned at the canal, where a boat stood waiting with its bored-looking driver, and carried on down the icy walkways. 

Zuko had passed through these streets only once, on the boat ride into the city. He’d hardly left the palace at all, except to duck into the courtyard to find the princess, or to practice his swords, and none of those trips had required more than a short walk. 

It was different, following the walkways over every arch, close enough to see into the windows of the different shops as they swept and prepped for opening, or to pass by the early morning travelers on their way, none of them sparing him more than a glance. That first day, he had been a spectacle, although Zuko had to wonder if their lack of attention now was really due to lack of curiosity, or due to his companion. 

Agna Qel'a was a large city, it must have been at least approaching Caldera City in size, and yet it seemed that every person they passed had a smile or a warm greeting for Prince Sokka. He might have been marching Zuko down the narrow walkways as though it was the worst chore anyone could possibly ask of him, but that disdain apparently extended to absolutely no one else. 

He was smiling and greeting most of these people by name, and they were just… people, as far as he could tell. Zuko wasn’t certain that Azula had bothered to learn most of her own attendants’ names, and she saw them every day. 

Prince Sokka glanced back at him only once, to make sure he was still following. He caught the hint of a frown, before Sokka turned off the narrow walkway, and if Zuko imagined he might have slowed down, just slightly, then it must have been because they were turning into a crowded morning market, and not because Zuko was having trouble keeping up. It was difficult to speed through a crowded promenade. Zuko glanced at stalls as they passed, but it was hard to focus on anything, or muster the clarity to ask any questions, when he was mostly just focused on catching his breath and willing back the stuffy pressure that was slowly building in his head.

Zuko huddled into his robes, which were clinging uncomfortably to his back and doing nothing for the chill, and focused on not losing the prince in the crowd. He’d expected the market to smell more… fishy, with how many stalls seemed to be lined with crates of ice, displaying the morning catch. The market outside his estate, in the rare instances where he had snuck off the grounds for a change of pace, had always smelled terrible, although that might have been the heat’s doing, or maybe their catches simply hadn’t been as fresh as they’d claimed. 

They passed other stalls, too. Tables heaped high with drying seaweeds, white and shiny with crusted sea salt, others selling furs and leather in bulk, shiny bone tools and weapons with intricate carvings. The prince hesitated over this one for just a moment before pressing on. They passed a stall selling nothing but necklaces, and around it three young women giggling into their sleeves in admiration. 

There were plenty of stalls serving hot food, too, and these were a little more familiar, even if the kinds of foods they were offering were an interesting mix of things he’d already encountered during his meals, and quick-fix foods he didn’t recognize, and were probably too... common, to serve in the palace. They should have looked appealing, but right now, just the sight of food was enough to make his stomach churn.

They paused in front of one of these stalls, Zuko a few paces back and subtly upwind. The smell was nauseating, but he was too relieved at the chance to catch his breath to complain. The man sitting behind it was close to his uncle’s age, buried in a coat of furs so thick that Zuko was a little surprised it didn’t drag through his cooking with every movement. He glanced up at Prince Sokka with a smile, which Zuko expected, and then turned an appraising look in his direction.

“That the Fire Prince?” he asked Prince Sokka, squinting in Zuko’s direction. After a moment he huffed, and Zuko tried not to be offended at how dissatisfied he looked. The prince smirked. 

“Sure is,” he said, and then helped himself to a roll with a jovial wave. Just one roll. Which was fine, because Zuko was still feeling vaguely nauseated, and he would have probably turned down anything offered to him, anyway. 

The building Prince Sokka led him to was just off the market, with a low curved roof and wide windows, and seemed very, very small, although maybe his expectations had been spoiled by the palace. He ushered him quickly through the doors. There was a curtain of furs hanging just past the entryway, and Prince Sokka waited until he’d closed the door behind him before pulling those aside. 

The room was _extremely_ warm, and Zuko sighed as the heat washed over him. An enormous fireplace against the far wall had been stoked to a roaring flame. There were no patients in the clinic, beds empty. Save for a single flickering candle propped on the edge of the desk by the entryway, all the lights were out in favor of the natural sunlight washing in from the windows. 

The only occupant was an old woman, leaning over a workbench on the far end of the room. She plucked a handful of dried herbs from the hooks by the window, but she paused before they reached her grinding stone, distracted by the sound of their entry. She smiled when she saw Prince Sokka. 

“If it isn’t my favorite patient,” she said, with a lilting tone of voice that said he was anything but, “and a friend?”

Prince Sokka’s expression pinched at that. Zuko decided, stubbornly, not to take it personally. He bowed in greeting, and his vision swam a bit when he raised his head again. 

“This is Prince Zuko, of the Fire Nation,” Sokka said. “He’s not feeling well. Obviously.” 

Zuko doubted it was _that_ obvious, but before he could even protest that he really was fine, and would be more than satisfied with a little cold medicine so he could _get back to his duties_ , the healer was rising from her seat at the workbench, and gesturing for him to follow her. 

“My name is Yugoda,” she said. Her voice was creaky, but not frail, and she smiled when Zuko obediently came over. She was nothing like his grandfather, but he thought… he didn’t remember her very well, he’d only met her once, when he was very young and well before his mother had—left the palace for good, but he thought this was what his grandmother might have been like. Soft spoken, with a kind face. “How long have you been feeling unwell?” 

Zuko very nearly answered that he’d woken up like this, but… he had been feeling worn down for a while now. Maybe since he’d arrived. 

“A few days,” he admitted. “It wasn’t too bad, until this morning, though. I think I overdid it yesterday, training.” She frowned slightly at that, and… Prince Sokka was always frowning at him, but now, moreso. 

She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead, then pulled back sharply, her frown suddenly much more severe. 

“You’re feverish,” she said, with a hint of disapproval, as though it was his fault. It made him feel strangely defensive. 

“I run hot, normally,” Zuko said. All firebenders did, typically at least a couple degrees hotter than the average nonbender. It was why his mother’s hands had always felt so cold to the touch, even in the dragon days of summer, when she would press them to his flushed cheeks. 

Healer Yugoda just shook her head, lips pursed. “Not this hot,” she said. “Here. Sit.”

She tapped the edge of the seat in front of her. Then she turned her back on him and puttered back over to her workbench.

Zuko did not sigh at her, because this was an elder, and even he knew better than to be disrespectful. He sat obediently where she’d pointed and leaned his head in his hands, headache throbbing with his pulse. He was mulishly annoyed at how much of a relief it was to be off his feet.

“Drink this,” she said, shoving a cup under his nose. 

The liquid inside was dark brown, and thick enough that it clung to the walls of the cup when he swirled it. He eyed it skeptically, but, well. She probably… knew best. 

It burned like fire going down. A warm flush spread through his chest almost immediately as the medicine did its work. The aftertaste was terrible, and he coughed a little to clear his throat. Prince Sokka seemed deeply amused, probably by the face he was making, but his eyes quickly cut away again when Zuko glanced up at him. 

“Robe off,” she said. 

“Uh,” he said, because she may be a healer but Prince Sokka was _right there_ , and—okay he seemed like he wasn’t paying Zuko the least bit of attention, but still—

“Just the top, don’t be shy. We’ll just check the lungs, and you’ll be on your way.”

“...Right,” Zuko said. 

His fingers were a little clumsy as he shrugged off his robe. He resisted the urge to steal a glance at Prince Sokka, because—he wasn’t sure which would be worse, finding the prince looking or finding him uninterested. 

Thankfully, he was distracted from further embarrassment when Yugoda reached out her hand in a gentle sweep, and raised a small orb of water from the basin beside the workbench. Zuko watched as it curled through the air and into her palm, and barely suppressed a jolt of surprise when the water slipped over her fingers like a perfect glove and started to _glow_. 

“Hold still,” she said, and he realized he’d been shifting slightly away from her. She touched his chest, probed at his throat, and everywhere the water touched was a spot of surprising warmth.

Yugoda tilted her head thoughtfully. 

“Take a deep breath,” she said.

Zuko inhaled and resisted the urge to cough, the air just enough to stir an ache in his tired lungs. Her waterbending felt strange, a prickling tension beneath the probing warmth spreading over his back. The tightness eased, just a little.

Yugoda nodded, almost to herself. The soft glow faded as the water flowed from her fingertips back into the basin. 

“You’ll be all right. You just need rest,” Yugoda said. Zuko shifted to shrug his inner robe back up. She thumbed the edge of the fabric at his sleeve. “Is that the warmest thing you have?”

“It‘s warm enough,” he said. He had his breath of fire, at least, even if it wore him out to use it for so long. She seemed dissatisfied with that, so he tried a smile, and added, “We don’t exactly specialize in winter wear in the Fire Nation.”

“You need rest, and a warmer coat,” she amended, jotting her diagnosis down in her notes.

“I can… commission one,” Zuko offered. He didn’t know who he would ask for that. He also didn’t have much of a stipend, and he was reluctant to waste it on clothes when he already _had_ clothes. How much would a new coat cost? He wasn’t sure what that would say about him, if they learned how little his father had allowed him—make him look unreliable, probably, or like he wasn’t trusted with his family’s funds. He could write to his uncle, maybe, and ask for… a loan, or something, if he didn’t have enough...

“He can borrow one of my coats until he gets something better,” Prince Sokka said, with a slight shrug, like he hadn’t been blatantly eavesdropping on the entire visit. The prince didn’t even glance at him when he offered, talking to the healer right over his head, as though he couldn’t imagine Zuko would protest, or have an opinion on the matter.

Which... Zuko managed to flush even more. He _did_ have an opinion on the matter, but he was _definitely_ not going to share it. Prince Sokka noticed his expression and frowned a little, probably taking it as him being prideful, instead of what it was, the idea of wearing the prince’s clothes—

“You don’t have to,” Zuko said weakly. “What I have is fine.”

“It’s not a big deal,” Prince Sokka said. “I’ve already wasted my morning.”

 _I didn’t ask you to_ , Zuko very nearly said. If fact, he’d done the exact opposite, he’d told him he would be fine without the prince’s meddling, and the healer had _just_ confirmed it, so.

“I don’t want you doing any more of this _training_ until you’re feeling better,” Yugoda added. She squinted at Prince Sokka. “Do _you_ need anything from me?” 

“I’m fine,” he said. She squinted some more, like she didn’t quite believe him. 

“Then go on and get this one a better coat,” she said, finally. She turned back to Zuko. “It was nice to meet you, your highness. Next time, don’t wait until you’ve been sick for days to come find me.” 

She dismissed them with a wave, muttering something about _stubborn boys_ while Zuko hastily finished replacing his robes. His head still rushed when he moved to stand, but—it wasn’t quite so bad, at least. He only had to grip the back of the seat with his fingertips for a few seconds before the spots cleared. 

Prince Sokka was frowning at him, not that that was anything new. 

“Let’s go,” he said, when he saw Zuko looking back. 

Zuko waited until they were most of the way back to his own room, before he’d gathered a second-wind to protest. 

“I could just put on another layer—” he suggested, to the prince’s retreating back. Prince Sokka passed Zuko’s door, and two more, then turned the corner and pulled open the door to his bedroom without inviting Zuko inside. 

Well, Zuko wasn’t going to wait in the hall like a lost child. If Prince Sokka was going to be rude, then Zuko didn’t particularly care to be the bigger man. 

The prince’s bedroom was much more disorganized than Zuko’s, but that might have only been because he actually had belongings to put in it. 

Zuko drifted over to the desk, intent to snoop through the unholy stack of books and papers there. Prince Sokka stomped over, threw open a drawer, and swept the whole pile inside before Zuko could catch more than a few words. 

“Do you mind?” he asked sourly. 

“Who’s the Boulder?” Zuko asked innocently, just to see Prince Sokka scowl. 

“Just—sit down and don’t touch anything,” Prince Sokka said. When Zuko didn’t move, he kicked the chair out from the desk for emphasis. 

Sitting… sounded pretty nice, right now, which was the only reason why Zuko didn’t protest. He dropped into the chair and leaned his arms on the desk. Prince Sokka’s room wasn’t as warm as the healer’s clinic had been. The fire was out, but it was still nicer than being outside. He dropped his forehead against his arm and closed his eyes. 

Zuko listened to the sound of rustling for a moment, and glanced up when it stopped. Prince Sokka was staring at him. He stared harder, when Zuko turned his head to look. 

“Don’t fall asleep at my desk,” he said grumpily. Zuko still had the energy to glare back at him. 

The prince just ignored him, turning back to the closets on the opposite wall. After a moment of digging around in the back he pulled a very wrinkled coat free, and with it a cloud of dust. Prince Sokka shook it twice, and the cloud scattered into the sunbeam coming in from the window. The inside was lined with thick white fur, the outside a delicately stitched pattern of steely blues and black. Prince Sokka glanced at Zuko once, frowned at his Fire Nation boots, then turned back for the matching pair. He held the clothes out for him.

“This one’s a bit old, but it should fit you,” Prince Sokka said. When Zuko didn’t immediately take it, Prince Sokka shook it a little for emphasis, releasing more dust. “Would you just… Come on, you’re not too good to wear a _coat_ in the North Pole.”

Zuko hesitated a moment longer, but… the coat did look warm.

“Thank you,” he said. 

Zuko rubbed his thumb along the soft lining of the hood and absolutely did not imagine the prince wearing it. He got up from the desk and pulled it on to test the fit. It was as warm as it looked, and soft. Zuko buried his face in the lining, because he could. It smelled… like stale dust and closet. He _wasn’t_ disappointed. 

Zuko followed Prince Sokka out the door. The prince kept pace with him down the hallway, but his footsteps stuttered when Zuko walked past his bedroom. 

“Woah, where are you going?” Prince Sokka asked. He reached out and caught Zuko by the elbow, and that little pressure on his arm was enough to almost make him lose his balance. The prince’s grip tightened, just slightly, until he’d righted himself. Zuko stared at him for a moment, and then slowly unburied his face from the warm lining of Prince Sokka’s coat. His coat, now. 

“I’m late,” Zuko said. “To meet Princess Yue?” 

“You’re sick,” he said. 

“So?” Zuko asked. _What now?_ he wanted to say, but thought better of it. He didn’t quite manage to stamp down the annoyed impatience in his tone, though, and Prince Sokka’s expression soured immediately. 

“So you’ll get Yue sick,” Prince Sokka said pointedly. 

Right. Zuko supposed that made sense. “I can… study on my own today,” he said. 

“And Healer Yugoda said you were supposed to _rest_ ,” he added, even more pointedly. When Zuko didn’t move, he gestured to his bedroom. Pointedly. “Are you going to make us explain to the Fire Nation that we worked their prince to exhaustion?”

Zuko imagined his father reading that letter. He... doubted that conversation would go as poorly as the prince imagined it would. His father _expected_ him to work hard. Zuko didn’t know how to explain that, though, and… having to contact his father would be inconvenient. For them. And he’d already caused them a lot of trouble this morning.

So. 

The prince still hadn’t let go of his elbow, so Zuko let himself be guided inside his chambers. At least he didn’t need to worry about the prince returning the favor and snooping, because he didn’t really own anything to _be_ embarrassing, and he’d done a perfectly good job embarrassing himself around the prince without props, anyway. As far as first and second and even third impressions went, he was doing just. Terribly.

Prince Sokka steered him toward the bed and dumped him unceremoniously on the corner. Zuko caught himself on the post and scowled. Prince Sokka crossed his arms.

“Rest,” he said. “Take the day off.”

“If I waste the whole day, I’ll fall behind,” Zuko protested. 

“What are you talking about, dude?” Prince Sokka asked. “You’re sick. No one’s gonna care if you spend the day in bed. Take tomorrow off too.” 

Zuko glanced at his desk. “I could—” 

“I will drag you back to the clinic,” Prince Sokka said. “And you can rest in one of _their_ beds.” Zuko glared at him. The prince, it seemed, was immune. 

“For a few hours,” he conceded. He was still wearing the coat, but that didn’t seem like much of a problem. He reached over to pull off his boots, though, because they were uncomfortable. Father would have killed him, if he’d caught him putting his shoes on the furniture. 

“Shouldn’t you have attendants for this?” Prince Sokka grumbled, watching Zuko struggle with his laces. The barb settled under his ribs, making him flush in a way that had nothing to do with his fever. A prince _should_ have attendants, or some kind of retinue, at least. Prince Sokka was—judging him, maybe, or at least thought him strange. Surely _he_ had attendants, and wouldn’t have been sent off to some foreign nation to fend for himself...

Zuko squeezed his eyes shut, and forced those dark thoughts down. He didn’t _need_ attendants to do his duties here. He was managing fine on his own. 

The bitter aftertaste of the medicine still lingered on his tongue. He focused his attention on that, and on his boots, and stubbornly kept his head down. Prince Sokka made no effort to help him with his laces, thankfully, because that would have been mortifying. Instead he glanced around the room with obvious dissatisfaction. 

“You don’t really have… _anything_ , do you?” Prince Sokka asked. 

“I only brought what I needed,” Zuko said defensively. He dropped his second boot carelessly on the floor, and it bounced away under the bed. He couldn’t bring himself to get up and straighten them. He was just—so exhausted. There had definitely been something in that medicine. “You can leave, now.” 

Zuko grabbed the heavy fur blanket, where it was still lying in a wrinkled lump at the edge of the bed and dragged it over himself. He hadn’t remembered to make it up before he’d left this morning, and they hadn’t been gone long enough for a servant to sneak in and do it for him.

“Really?” Sokka asked.

Zuko rolled himself up, and stuck his face back in the lining of his coat, hoping the prince would take it as the dismissal it was. He was being—petty. He would probably regret it, later, but for now he just wanted to sleep. 

Prince Sokka snorted. “Well, why don’t you let me get the fire for you, then? I live to serve, after all—” 

“You didn’t have to follow me around. No one asked you to,” Zuko snapped. 

Prince Sokka’s eyes flashed. For a moment they stared at one another, and then he snorted derisively and turned away. Zuko closed his eyes, determined to ignore him until he left. 

“You’re kind of a jerk, you know that?” he grumbled.

Zuko hummed. He did know that. 

After a beat of quiet, he cracked an eye, and watched the prince crouch over the fireplace. Right. It was pretty cold, still. It took him a few tries to get the kindling to catch, and Zuko very pettily didn’t help him. Prince Sokka stared into the fire for a few seconds, drumming his fingers against his knee. 

He didn’t say anything more, only quietly stood and let himself out.

Zuko woke, vaguely disoriented, to the slant of moonlight through his open curtains. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept through an entire afternoon.

(Except that he could, he remembered it perfectly, exhausted and burning with fever...)

He felt much more himself after sleeping through the day. He was also ravenous, thirsty, and wide awake. The first two, at least, he could easily solve. There was an untouched tray sitting on the corner of his desk, and when Zuko went to remove the lid he found a long-cold dinner, some kind of soup, and a pot of tea. Zuko felt vaguely uneasy about the idea of someone—a servant?—slipping into the room under his notice, close enough to leave a tray behind, but he was too hungry to truly complain. He used firebending to reheat them both, not particularly caring that the tea would be scalded and slightly bitter. 

There was a stack of paper and an ink stone sitting out on the desk, with an uncleaned brush leaning haphazardly against its side, a dried streak of ink trailing from the bristles to the wood. He’d been… feverish. He had a vague memory of waking in the middle of the afternoon to realize that he’d forgotten to write his latest update to his father (he hadn’t forgotten, he’d been putting it off—), but he didn’t actually remember getting out of bed. 

He must have, because there were two sloppily folded letters sitting sealed on the edge of the desk, one for his father and one for his uncle.

The one for his father was—appallingly unprofessional. He’d need to re-write it, remove the parts where he mentioned he was ill, and that Prince Sokka had lent him a coat, because… how stupid, why would his father want to know that? He certainly wouldn’t be happy to hear that Zuko had taken the day off. He’d rewrite it, mention the water healing practice. The coat… maybe a brief aside on Water Tribe textiles, that could be… useful for Fire Nation merchants, if they began ramping up trade with the Water Tribe after their cultural exchange.

Zuko took the letter he’d written to his father, crumpled it between his palms, and burned it to ash. He stood to dust the remains into the hearth, and watched the flames flicker red and hungry for a moment before they settled again. 

The letter to his uncle… was just plain embarrassing. He was tempted to burn that one too, but…

His uncle had seemed worried in his last letter. Zuko felt a bit guilty, with how few details he normally included in his responses, even back in the Fire Nation. He hadn’t known how else to respond. He wasn’t really trying to be distant, he just... had very little to say, about himself, and about what he’d been doing, which was mostly sitting with Princess Yue in a dusty study day in and day out. 

But he’d apparently found inspiration this afternoon, because this letter was a whole page and a half longer than his usual. Princess Yue had earned herself two whole paragraphs, which he didn’t remember writing but could find no fault in. He’d dedicated an entire three lines just to describing his new coat, and a bashful half a sentence to where it had come from.

(Was that too obvious? He… his uncle probably wouldn’t read into it too much, it was fine, it would be fine.)

The rest was just pointless small-talk, and a brief mention that he’d been ill, but not to worry, and that he was recovering. He’d signed the bottom with his usual well-wishes, a polite inquiry after his cousin’s health, and a promise to write more soon. He… maybe he could send this one. Zuko considered the letter again and then re-folded it, and rose from the desk. 

Even with the residual ache from his illness, he had slept much too long to return to bed now. Zuko considered trying anyway—he’d only brought two books with him, and he’d read them both already, but maybe the familiarity would be good.

He decided against it. Instead, he hesitated a moment over the boots he’d kicked off at the foot of his bed, before swapping them for the pair that Prince Sokka had stacked neatly by the wardrobe. 

The hallways were eerily quiet. Zuko did his best to shake the feeling that he was doing something wrong as he made his way through the silent halls. He wasn’t a prisoner, what should they care if he decided to go for a walk?

He was most of the way to the courtyard before he realized where he was going, but his only other option was to turn around and go back to bed. Zuko pulled the sleeve of his coat up over his hand, and used it to push aside the icy door. 

He would sit in the fresh air for a few minutes, maybe rethink his Uncle’s letter—

Zuko hesitated in the doorway when he realized he wasn’t alone. There were no torches in the courtyard, but he could see Katara standing under the moonlight as clearly as if the sun was shining down on her instead. 

Zuko watched her flow through her stances for a moment. After she’d shifted to the third form, he realized why it looked so familiar—it was the same routine he’d seen the waterbending students practicing the other morning, when Chief Arnook had taken him to find Princess Yue. Katara paused and pulled a scrap of paper from her pocket. He recognized the notes he’d seen the princess hide in her sleeve. Katara studied it for a moment, and then returned to the center of the courtyard. Zuko hadn’t been watching the waterbenders long, but she was clearly trying to follow along, although parts of the form looked improvised, as though she was filling in the blanks on her own. 

Zuko was fairly certain it startled him, more than her, when she turned to flow back into that first form and caught sight of him out of the corner of her eye. The water in her hand flashed in the moonlight as she flinched. He didn’t mean to spy on her. He didn’t even realized that she hadn’t noticed him, he’d just assumed she was ignoring him as she always did—

She whirled around, startled, but then froze when she saw who was in the doorway. Her shoulders sagged, with a relief that would be obvious even if the water she’d been bending hadn’t sagged with her. She instantly looked less guilty, and more defiant. He was really getting used to that scowl. The snow crunched quietly under his new boots as he shifted. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your training. I can leave if I’m bothering you,” Zuko said. 

That, inexplicably, seemed to thaw her scowl from defiance into something closer to wariness. 

“...No,” Katara said. “You’re fine. You—if you want, I can make room.”

Zuko hesitated, startled by the offer, but eventually he shook his head. “Healer Yugoda said I should wait a few days before training again,” he said. 

A bit of concern edged into her expression, surprisingly genuine. “How are you feeling?” she asked. “Sokka mentioned you were sick.”

Ah. Probably to complain about how ungrateful he’d been. Zuko had been a bit out of it, but he definitely remembered being snappish, and still had enough sense to be embarrassed. 

“Fine,” he said. “Better.”

“Are you not sleeping well?” she asked, and she sounded so much like the healer in that moment that Zuko just blinked at her for a second.

“I slept too well, I think,” he said. “I’ve been sleeping all day, so I just—do you mind if I sit? I won’t distract you.”

She looked highly skeptical, although he wasn’t sure if she was skeptical of his health, or of his promise not to distract her. Either way, she nodded, and gestured toward the bench at the very far end of the courtyard. 

Zuko realized very quickly that this was not a reflection of how far she wanted him away from her. The form she was working through was clearly advanced, maybe more than such a tiny courtyard could accommodate, and more than once Zuko had to raise his sleeve to his face to keep from being peppered with cast-off chips of ice. 

Her movements did seem a little off to his untrained eye, although it took him a moment to realize why. He remembered the row of men each following after Master Pakku’s example, flowing through each stance, and Princess Yue there taking notes, and then—

Katara stumbled, slightly, where Zuko’s memory ended. Where the notes likely ended, because Zuko and Chief Arnook had distracted her, and so Princess Yue hadn’t gotten the chance to finish them. 

Katara cursed in frustration. She threw her arms out, and the water she’d been bending scattered into frozen shards at her feet. 

Zuko hummed. “I think—” 

Katara whirled around to glare at him, the force of it startling him in his seat. 

“What?” she snapped. He shook his head quickly, hands held up in surrender. She huffed a breath, then sighed, some of the tension going out of her shoulders. “Sorry. What were you going to say?”

“I just… I noticed that you weren’t doing the form quite the way Master Pakku did—which is fine!” he said quickly, before the scowl edging into her expression could fully form. 

“Well, it’s not like he’s going to teach me the proper forms,” she said.

“He—why? Can’t you just go join his lessons?” Zuko asked. She certainly looked like she was ready to learn the advanced forms, though he didn’t know enough about waterbending to say for sure. 

“Women aren’t allowed to train in combat bending in the Northern Water Tribe,” Katara said. “Master Pakku won’t even let me _watch_. The only reason he tolerates Yue there is because she’s a nonbender, and the chief’s daughter.” She paused, and just the faintest hint of a smirk replaced some of her frustration. “ _And_ he’s a stubborn old man who thinks he’s smarter than everyone else, so I don’t think he’s noticed what we’re up to.” 

“So half your benders just… stay home, if you’re attacked?” he asked. That was… bafflingly stupid, but pointing that out was edging a little bit too close into bringing up the war, and he had the good sense to know not to bring _that_ up, when Katara was actually talking to him for more than three terse words. She didn’t look like she needed him to tell her, anyway.

“Women traditionally learn the healing arts,” she said. 

“Oh,” Zuko said. That was… useful, at least. “Is that what you do?”

“I mastered water healing years ago,” Katara said, almost offhandedly, as though mastering an advanced bending style as a teenager was hardly worth mentioning. Maybe it wasn’t, for someone who was apparently teaching herself advanced bending forms second-hand through a handful of chicken-scratch notes. 

Zuko had enough experience to recognize a prodigy when he saw one. 

He didn’t doubt, even inventing the steps from scratch, that she would be able to work through the forms that Princess Yue had copied for her, but he still felt faintly guilty, for being the reason she was struggling in the first place.

“Do you mind if I—?” He waved vaguely at the very sharp ice at her feet. She gestured for him to continue. “My uncle says that true masters can draw inspiration from other bending styles in their own native element.”

He’d written to his uncle in frustration once, not long after he’d heard that Azula had mastered lightning bending. She had been only fourteen, and Zuko had still been working through the intermediate forms, and—Zuko would never be as good at bending as his sister, but the longer he was away the more he’d felt like he may never catch up. 

His uncle had responded with a very long and winding parable about his travels in the Earth Kingdom, which Zuko was embarrassed to admit he’d mostly skimmed, since he very rarely understood his uncle’s proverbs anyway, and even his own personal stories seemed to be full of them. But at the bottom he’d commented that true bending masters drew inspiration from the other elements, and that only by combining them could a person ever hope to achieve true mastery. At the time Zuko hadn’t found his advice particularly useful, considering he had no way to _learn_ any other bending styles, but… well, he had more than enough inspiration, now.

Uncle had given an example of a technique he’d devised for lightning redirection, which drew inspiration from the Water Tribes. (He had followed with half a page of insistence that Zuko _not_ attempt it for himself, and that he was only giving an example. Zuko hadn’t had anyone to try it with _anyway_... and also, it had been a dry summer).

Zuko didn’t know when he would ever need to redirect lightning, and obviously had never been able to try, but it stood to reason that if his uncle could borrow inspiration from waterbending, then Katara might be able to do the same from firebending.

“Here. This is a firebending move,” he said. “My sister mastered this one when she was nine, so it shouldn’t be too hard for you to pick up.”

The waterbending form started low, pulling water from the ground and up around them, twisting next into a low sweep before shifting back to a neutral stance. Zuko had interrupted Princess Yue before she could finish taking her notes on the end of the form, and so the transition from low to the ground back to a neutral stance was stilted and awkward, as Katara was missing the footwork necessary to keep from leaving her either off-balance or open to attack. 

Using a spinning kick to create a ring of flame was a mid-tier firebending move, and useful for recovering from the ground. Zuko copied the last few steps of Katara’s waterbending form as well as he could from memory. When he reached the point where she’d begun improvising, he shifted into the tail end of his firebending form, merging the two together. 

When she’d insisted that he rest for a few days, Healer Yugoda hadn’t mentioned firebending at all. She’d forbidden him from training with his swords, though, and he was sure she wouldn’t approve if he pushed himself too much. Zuko put no heat into the move, running through it dry just to demonstrate the forms, and how the low sweep could transition into a spinning twist that put him back on his feet. The landing was a little lackluster—Azula would have landed it—and his foot slipped a bit in the snow, but he thought he got the point across. 

He turned back to Katara. He should have felt self-conscious with how intensely focused her gaze was, but there was a spark of excitement in her expression when she met his eyes.

“That was amazing,” she said. “Is your sister a good firebender?”

“She’s a prodigy,” Zuko said. His breath was still coming a bit quick. He moved to sit down on the edge of the bench. Even that little show was enough to tire him, his breath rattling faintly in his congested lungs. “My Father is very proud.”

“Okay,” Katara said after a moment. “Let me try.”

Zuko took a few steps back, to clear room for her. Katara stepped into the first stance of the waterbending form and raised a perfectly round orb of water from the ground beneath her. She flowed through the forms as smoothly as the water suspended between her hands. It was clear that she had already mastered the steps that Princess Yue had given her—would likely have mastered the rest, if Zuko hadn’t interrupted them—and she didn’t show the slightest sign of hesitation until she was nearing the end. 

She rooted one hand to the ground and swept out her trailing foot, sending a whip of water streaking across the courtyard. An ice column cracked where the water sliced through it, its neighbors creaking under the strain. 

Katara twisted back to standing with the same motion. She broke form immediately, throwing out a hand to steady the column before it could topple, but Zuko could see the smile on her face even before she glanced back at him, eyebrows raised. 

“That’s actually… pretty good,” Zuko said. Katara preened a bit with the compliment. 

Really, it was more than pretty good, especially from seeing it only once. Of course, Azula had mastered the same move as a child, but still—Katara got it right on the first try. It was a little rough, maybe, and her hand was a little close to center when she’d twisted, but it was impressive to watch. 

He leaned his elbow on his knee. Talent like that, and they had her out here practicing in secret. He tried to imagine someone telling _Azula_ she couldn’t train with them… The idea sent a little stab of nervousness through him that almost made him laugh. 

“Do you want to keep going?” Zuko asked. “I can—uh, I mean, I’m obviously not a master, but I can’t give you… tips.”

“Thank you,” she said. “Does everyone learn firebending forms in the Fire Nation, or…?”

Zuko nodded, honestly a little surprised that she was curious about the Fire Nation at all. He didn’t need to mention it had been a policy implemented during the war, she could probably guess, but—

“They teach it in school, for anyone who wants to learn,” he said. “And of course, the royal family is… expected to learn.” 

Katara nodded slightly and leaned toward him. 

“Do you want to practice together sometime?” she asked. “You can bring your swords, and… maybe show me some more of your sister’s moves?”

Zuko blinked, caught off guard by the offer, and how genuinely eager she looked at the idea.

“...How about tomorrow?” he asked. Zuko didn’t think he would be able to stand another day locked in his room, now that he was feeling better, but Healer Yugoda had probably already told the Chief and Princess Yue not to expect him.

Katara grinned at him, looking more pleased than he’d ever seen her. 

“Tomorrow,” she agreed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part of this chapter was inspired by art by @dickpuncherdraws on tumblr (link in the end notes!)

Yue wasn’t waiting for him when he arrived at their usual meeting place. This was the second day in a row that Zuko had felt completely clear-headed, and he had to admit that some combination of the medicine, the coat, and whatever Healer Yugoda had done with her water healing had done him some good.

Much more grudgingly, he had to admit that the days of forced rest had probably done him some good, too. 

Zuko sat and watched the waterbenders practice for a few minutes, idly taking stock of their forms, and the sort of firebending moves that might compliment them. He’d gotten the impression that Katara was still a bit undecided what to think of him, and had caught her staring at him, both tense and uncertain more than once in the past few days. But whatever she thought of him, her eagerness to improve her waterbending had won out over her hesitance. 

He’d demonstrated a few more firebending forms for her since that first night, badly at first, when he was still recovering, and then with slightly more confidence. He still ran through them dry, just demonstrating the forms themselves, although that was more to do with the cramped courtyard than anything else because...

It was strange. Nice. To meet Katara in the courtyard with his swords and just practice, and have her actually seem excited to see him, even if it was just to learn bending forms from him. It had given him something to do while he was recovering so that he wouldn’t go absolutely insane in his bedroom. Sometimes Yue would come to pass notes on to Katara, or to watch them practice and nag Zuko about training when he shouldn’t be (even though he wasn’t _training_ , he was just demonstrating forms—). 

Sometimes Prince Sokka would come to watch, too, although Zuko mostly tried to pretend he wasn’t there, and that he hadn’t only days ago been extremely discourteous to one of the Northern Water Tribe’s _royal family_ , something that would have certainly had consequences in the Fire Palace, but had for whatever reason gone unanswered for here. He and Prince Sokka seemed to be of a like mind, pretending the incident had never happened.

Still, he could only not-train for so many hours in a day. For the past two days, Zuko had been subtly suggesting to Yue that he had recovered enough that they could resume their lessons, and she had _finally_ agreed, but…

Zuko watched until Master Pakku’s disapproving looks shifted from mildly annoyed at his presence to bordering on confrontational before he had to admit that Yue wasn’t coming to meet him. He didn’t _think_ she’d have forgotten, but if she was running late, she was running very late. 

Without a better option, Zuko made his way toward the stairs and headed for the archives alone. Yue had agreed that he could get back to work. He’d been slacking off enough as it was, and so he would just go collect something to study for himself. If he went to their usual room, at least she would know where to find him—

He glanced into the study room and found it empty, but when he passed by the next one, he caught the tail-end of a conversation through the cracked door. Zuko hesitated at the base of the stairs, torn between carrying on and pausing to listen.

“—please, please, you’d be so good at it—” Yue said. 

She’d gone ahead to the study without him. Zuko paused at the doorway, wondering whether or not he should knock, but… he’d definitely heard his name. They were talking about him. Zuko had pushed the door open before his mind could catch up to the fact that he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, he shouldn’t be interrupting, and definitely not unannounced, but—

“Zuko!” Yue said. She must have already collected their books for the day, the table behind her piled high with stacks of them. Prince Sokka was standing awkwardly beside her. She reached over to smack his shoulder. “You’re so stubborn you made me late!” she accused, and turned back to Zuko to add, “I’m sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“It’s fine,” Zuko said absently. Prince Sokka was staring at him, and Zuko stared back, searching for literally anything to say to him that wasn’t _why were you talking about me_. “You’re here,” he said, stupidly. “You—why are you here?”

“Yue asked me to...” he said, gesturing vaguely at the desk, “...help.”

“You’ll be great at this,” Yue reassured him. Zuko was pretty sure that wasn’t where Prince Sokka’s reluctance was coming from, but she seemed completely oblivious to that as she smiled at him. “We’re really almost done covering the materials we requested.”

Prince Sokka squinted at her for another moment. He went long enough without protesting, it seemed, to satisfy her. She grinned brightly and turned to Zuko. “Sokka is going to cover for me today. I… something came up. I hope you don’t mind—”

“It’s… fine,” Zuko said. “I’ve taken enough of your time.”

Yue smiled at Zuko, and then turned and absolutely beamed at Sokka. He only rolled his eyes. 

“I owe you one,” she said. 

“Yeah, yeah, fine,” he grumbled, with no heat to the words.

Yue clapped her hands together. “Great!” she said. She was backing toward the door like she half-expected Prince Sokka to change his mind, and by the absolutely pained look on his face, Zuko could see why. “I’ve already been to the archives for you, just put it back when you’re done!”

He almost felt like he should be offended, but the unhappy-pained look Prince Sokka was giving Yue seemed a lot less like the hostile _he wants to be anywhere but here_ expression Zuko was used to and a lot more… awkward. Yue ducked out the door like a fox-hare making a break for freedom, and he frowned after her. 

Prince Sokka shook his head slightly and, not quite meeting Zuko’s eye, gestured to the table. Maybe Zuko wasn’t the only one who regretted how he’d acted the other day...

“Well, sit down,” he said grumpily. He grabbed the top book off the stack that Yue had collected for them and tapped it against the chair beside him. “The sooner we start, the sooner we can get this over with.” 

...or, maybe that was just wishful thinking.

Prince Sokka had selected a textbook on navigational theory from the stack. 

“Oh, that one’s...” Zuko began, but Prince Sokka had already opened it to start paging through. 

During one of his lessons, Yue had impressed how integral to their culture sailing was, and how the Northern Water Tribe used the moon and the stars for navigation. The idea seemed—straightforward, when she’d said it, and not unlike his very vague knowledge of sailing Fire Nation vessels, which navigated by a similar method. 

The concept itself, and the actual application of the concept, were two very different things.

Zuko had taken one look at the contents of the chapter on celestial mechanics and felt his heart sink. It was dense, and filled with some of the most complicated astrological diagrams Zuko had ever seen and… math, for some reason, although he couldn’t fathom _why_. 

He’d stared at the page for a long moment, face carefully blank, and then had stolen a quick glance up at Yue. She’d looked up at the same time, with a twin expression of forced calm on her face—and then her lip had twitched, and she’d cracked a smile, and the two of them had burst into self-conscious laughter. They’d set the book aside and decided to save navigational theory for last.

“This doesn’t look too bad,” Prince Sokka mumbled, half to himself. He glanced up. “How much of this did Yue want to cover—just the one book?”

“What?” Zuko leaned over his shoulder, to double check that he was actually looking at the same book. A very intricate diagram of the northern sky, complete with a table of equations for calculating their movement throughout the year, stared back. 

“You actually understand this stuff?” he asked. 

“Of course I—hey, jerk, don’t sound surprised!” Prince Sokka said.

“No, I mean… it’s complicated,” Zuko said. 

Prince Sokka blinked at him. His frown thawed, just slightly. 

“Well, it’s fine,” he said. “I’ll explain it to you.”

Zuko had braced himself for... well, for the worst day of lessons so far, probably. Prince Sokka started in immediately on how the Northern Water Tribe used celestial navigation to guide their ships, which Zuko understood, in theory, except that in _practice_ it was a lot more math than Zuko was prepared for. 

He was trying to listen. He _was_ , but—

“You didn’t get any of that, did you?” Prince Sokka asked. Zuko tore his eyes away from Prince Sokka’s fingers. He’d been ripping little strips from the edge of his scratch paper as he’d talked. Rolling it up into tiny balls. They were really _nice_ fingers—

“Uh,” Zuko said, very eloquently. He blinked at the paper Prince Sokka had been fiddling with, and realized that Prince Sokka had been writing notes for him, and those notes were just. Absolutely incomprehensible. 

Zuko glanced up at him, expecting irritation, at least. Anger, more likely, the kind he’d gotten used to from his own tutors, because he’d _never_ been quick to pick up on anything except for the sort of soft subjects that weren’t impressive to anyone, language and history—

Prince Sokka was smiling at him. Zuko blinked, once, just to be sure. 

“It’s pretty complicated,” he said. “Have you studied a lot of math?”

“Not… really,” Zuko admitted. His tutors had given up pretty quickly, once he’d passed their requirements, and it had become obvious he didn’t have the talent to continue. 

“That’s fine,” Prince Sokka said. “Sorry, I was probably making it too complicated.” 

Zuko didn’t even have more than a moment to stare, baffled, as Prince Sokka apologized to _him_ because he was too slow to understand, before Prince Sokka was flipping through the book on navigation, and sliding it over for Zuko to look. 

“No one actually does the math off the top of their heads, anyway,” Prince Sokka said. “So if you were really sailing, you’d just take your sight… we measure by the moon, I think the Fire Nation uses the star, uh, Druk? Or a sun compass, but we won’t get into that...” He was jotting numbers on the edge of the free sheet of paper he’d pulled out to demonstrate. “The charts already have the calculations done for you, so you can just look it up in the book—” He watched Prince Sokka write for a moment with morbid fascination. Zuko scooched the book with the chart and said pre-written calculations toward him, the chart Prince Sokka had _handed to Zuko as though he could make any sense of it_ , just to see if Prince Sokka would glance at it. 

He didn’t. He just finished jotting numbers, struck a few lines for dividers, and turned the page around for Zuko to look. 

“Did you just—do that in your head?” Zuko asked. Prince Sokka glanced at the page, and then he tapped the book. 

“You don’t _have_ to,” he said. “You can just look it up.”

Zuko was really in trouble, because apparently Prince Sokka wasn’t just handsome, he was—a literal genius, doing these calculations in his head, paging through the navigation manual as though it was nothing to him, almost like he was bored with it. He propped his chin on his hand and turned the page, scooting his chair just a little bit closer to Zuko’s so they could share as they started on the next problem. 

Somehow, they finished _early_ , with the sun hanging hardly half-way up the midday sky. And Zuko… actually thought he understood what they’d been reading, somehow. Prince Sokka leaned back in his chair and stretched. He fixed Zuko with a pensive look.

“Thank you for your help today,” Zuko said. 

Prince Sokka waved dismissively. “It’s fine. Now Yue owes me one,” he said. 

Zuko nodded and settled back in his seat. When he glanced up again, Prince Sokka was still staring at him, a bit expectantly. 

“Prince Sokka, you don’t have to stay. I can review on my own,” Zuko said.

“We finished,” he reminded him, rapping his knuckles on the hardcover of the book. “And would you relax with the stuffy titles all the time? Just call me Sokka like a normal person.”

“Oh,” Zuko’s stomach flipped treacherously. That was—a good sign, wasn’t it? No, he probably shouldn’t read into it too much, Sokka had seemed friendly with everyone, from the way he’d acted the other day at the morning market. He fought the embarrassing urge to… thank him, or something, and nodded sedately instead. “Sokka then… and, you can call me Zuko,” he said. 

Another beat passed. Sokka didn’t leave.

“Um. Is there something else?” Zuko asked.

“We _finished the book_ ,” Sokka said, as though stating the obvious with more emphasis would somehow give it new meaning. “So aren’t you done for the day?”

Zuko blinked at him. “It's hardly midday,” he said.

“Well, how about a break then?” Sokka asked.

“I don’t need a break,” he said defensively. 

“We worked through lunch,” Sokka said. 

“We had tea,” Zuko reminded him. 

Sokka threw his hands up. 

“Why are you _like_ this?” he shouted, much too loud for an archive study room. Someone in the neighboring room thumped on the wall. Sokka barreled on, “I’m trying to be nice! Do you want food or not!”

Oh. 

Was that what he was doing? 

There was a long pause. Just as Sokka looked like he was about to give up and leave, Zuko leaned slightly forward. 

“I could eat,” Zuko said. 

“...Well. Good,” Sokka said. Even though he was the one who’d offered, he looked a bit caught off guard now. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, then almost immediately took them out again to scoop a stack of books off the table. “Let’s go put these away, first.”

Once their study materials were safely stored back in their crates, Sokka dusted his hands and asked, “Have you gone to the promenade yet?”

“Yes. You were there,” Zuko said, because they’d passed through on their way to the healer’s clinic. He’d been a bit distracted trying to stay upright, so he hadn’t really paid much attention while he was there, but he’d been there.

Sokka rolled his eyes. “ _Besides_ the time your brain was cooking inside your skull,” he said. 

“That’s an exaggeration,” Zuko said. 

“Is that a ‘no’?” Sokka asked. 

It was a no, mostly because Zuko hadn’t really been anywhere that wasn’t the archive or his suite, save for the few times he’d been invited to dine with Princess Yue and Chief Arnook, which had been extremely stressful, or his trips to the aviary. Zuko shrugged. 

“Great,” Sokka said. “I’ll show you some culture.” 

“I’ve seen plenty of culture,” Zuko pointed out, but he followed after Sokka anyway, as he led them down what Zuko was fairly certain was the same path they’d taken the other day. He wasn’t one hundred percent certain, but only because he’d been staring at Sokka’s back for most of that walk, praying to Agni that he wouldn’t fall over and straight into the canal. 

Sokka scoffed. “What, in the Fire Nation?” he asked, his tone implying very heavily that the only correct answer there was _no_. 

“I’ve done nothing _but_ study Water Tribe culture since I got here,” Zuko pointed out. Sokka hummed quietly, sounding unconvinced, so Zuko added, “and Yue is a very good teacher.” 

Sokka squinted at him. 

“Fine,” he said. “You’ve seen _some_ culture. It’s not enough to read about it.” 

That was probably true, but until a few days ago, Zuko had been sorely lacking in anyone who was willing to exchange more than a few words with him, let alone give him first-hand experience. His count had recently moved up to three. Two and a half, probably, since Sokka was only here under duress, as a favor to Yue. 

(He was stubbornly counting Katara, even if she was only interested in his firebending.)

They turned onto a familiar street. He’d thought the promenade seemed crowded in the morning, when Sokka had dragged him through to see Healer Yugoda. That was nothing compared to now, and the absolute crush of people milling about through the afternoon market stalls.

Zuko had to admit that the promenade was more enjoyable when he didn’t feel like he was an inch from death. Zuko had learned that the Water Tribes’ ideas of meal times were decidedly blurry at the edges, and they were close enough to the midday meal that the lines by the food stalls stretched up and down narrow the walkways. 

Zuko stood to the side and watched as Sokka paused to hover over one of the market stalls. They mostly sold weapons, alongside a few handicrafts and textiles hanging over a rack at the back beneath the canopy. Sokka was more interested in the items at the front, eyeing a couple weapons that Zuko had seen before, but didn’t know the name of. They were metal, not quite like a blade, and forged at a hard angle between the flat front and the grip. Zuko assumed it was a popular choice, from the number of men he’d seen carrying one. So far Yue had glossed over any mention of Water Tribe weaponry, with the promise to cover it later. Zuko was reluctant to press her with too many questions, so he really was ignorant on the topic. 

Sokka seemed very interested in two of them, with the only discernible feature to Zuko being the color of the grip wraps, and the tint of the metal it was forged from. 

“What is that?” Zuko asked after a moment, when his curiosity finally won out over his reluctance to pry. 

Sokka gave him a scandalized look, and when Zuko glanced up, the merchant behind the table looked just as appalled. He tamped down the immediate urge to be defensive, and the anxiety that he’d somehow offended them that came right after. 

“...So, I take it that was a stupid question,” Zuko said instead. “I’ve just—seen people carrying them, but I don’t know what they’re called.” 

_People_ most importantly meaning Sokka, in the few times they’d crossed paths, although Zuko had been doing his measured best to stare without being caught _staring_. 

“It’s a boomerang,” Sokka said. “You seriously haven’t covered this yet?” 

Zuko shook his head. “I’m supposed to go… hunting,” he said. “But Yue said I’d get some practical experience, soon, so we skipped most of it.” 

He was truly dreading, with every fiber of his being, what that practical experience could possibly be. 

“Well, don’t look so eager!” The man behind the table laughed, while something complicated flicked across Sokka’s face. Surprise, mostly, and maybe envy, before it was gone entirely, and Sokka turned to pick the boomerang up. 

“Do you mind?” Sokka asked the merchant. The man gave a quick go ahead gesture, and then Sokka was _throwing it_ straight into the crowd. 

“Oh,” Zuko said, as it sailed over their heads, and then… just came right back to them. Zuko took half a step back as it came toward them, but Sokka caught it easily, and set it back on the table with a grin. 

“We don’t have any weapons like that in the Fire Nation,” Zuko said. 

“It’s traditional, for the Water Tribes,” Sokka said. “I’m sure the Fire Nation has its own traditional weapons.”

In truth, the Fire Nation valued its bending above anything else—or at least, it had, for as long as his grandfather had reigned. Weapons were considered a second choice, something of a fall-back, if a person was unfortunate enough to be a weak bender, or was born a non-bender with no other options.

Zuko didn’t say as much, but Sokka seemed to catch it from his expression anyway. He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you’ve trained with swords, haven’t you?” Sokka asked. 

“Yes, but that’s not—usual,” Zuko said. “My father and grandfather both prefer firebending, obviously.”

“Not your uncle, though?” Sokka asked. “Isn’t he the crown prince?”

“Well, Uncle thinks it's important to learn multiple styles, even non-bending ones. My cousin Lu Ten had some sword training, too, but I think he had to drop it after...ah, after he was injured.” In the war, he didn’t specify, but from Sokka’s slight frown he had probably guessed, anyway. “That’s all right, though. I don’t think he ever liked it as much as I do, and he’s a strong enough firebender that he never really needed it, anyway.”

“Is your cousin all right?” Sokka asked. When Zuko glanced over, Sokka was playing with the ties on his coat, but his concern seemed genuine, at least. 

“He’s fine,” Zuko said. “He’s—it was a head injury, so it's complicated, but he’s... I haven’t seen him in a long time, but my uncle writes about him often enough.” 

He’d gotten another letter from Uncle since he’d sent his last overly-honest one, but it was clear from the contents that Uncle had sent it before he’d received Zuko’s. Zuko was still bracing himself for the reply, and slightly regretting not rewriting it after all. 

“Well, you could always go visit,” Sokka said. Zuko wasn’t about to explain that he absolutely could _not_ do that without an express invitation, so he just nodded, and let Sokka lead them away from the market stalls toward their real destination. 

“Any preference?” Sokka asked, once they’d stopped in front of the food. Zuko shook his head, because he didn’t actually know what most of these things were, certainly not enough to have an opinion, and everything smelled amazing, anyway. 

Sokka ordered something from a woman with long braids down her back and swiftly paid for both before Zuko could even truly panic over the fact that he hadn’t brought any money with him, not that he had much money to spend even if he had.

“I can pay you back later,” Zuko offered, but Sokka just flapped a gloved hand in his face until he stopped talking, and then shoved the bowl of food in his direction when it was handed to them. 

“It’s fine,” Sokka said, and then nodded for Zuko to follow him out of the promenade and back toward the canals. “Let’s go find somewhere to sit.”

They wandered until they were far enough to escape the noise of the marketplace, back to where a short stairwell led down to a docking point for the city’s gondolas. Sokka hopped up on the ledge and slid down the little slope to the edge of the boat launch. He came to a stop at the bottom and sat, feet dangling over the water. He patted the spot next to him for Zuko.

Zuko followed more cautiously, and still managed to nearly lose his footing on the edge with his first step. Sokka watched him pinwheel his arms with only mild interest until he’d managed to right himself. 

“The edges are a bit slick by the water,” Sokka advised blandly, after it became apparent that Zuko wasn’t going to plunge headfirst into the canal. 

Zuko huffed. “You could have warned me,” he said. 

Sokka raised an eyebrow. “Well, it’s _ice_ , so...” he said. 

Zuko pointedly ignored the way Sokka was smirking at him as he gingerly settled onto the ice, like he was half-waiting for him to slip again. It felt more teasing than mean-spirited, and that alone was such a nice change of pace that Zuko just rolled his eyes when Sokka made an exaggerated show of clapping for him when he didn’t fall.

He shifted over slightly and gripped the side of the wall with one hand. Sokka was much more carefree, swinging his legs over the water. Zuko settled the bowl between his knees to free up his other hand.

“Have you eaten these before?” Sokka asked. 

Zuko shook his head. They had something similar in the Fire Nation, balls of fried dough with radish-onion and octosquid. These looked steamed, and were floating in a clear sauce that smelled almost sweet. Zuko stuck one with the little skewer they’d offered with each bowl and tried it. It was chewy, but not unpleasant, and had a tangy aftertaste. 

“What do you think?” he asked. 

Zuko hummed appreciatively, and Sokka grinned.

“It’s good. Sour,” he said. It wasn’t really a flavor he was used to in the Fire Nation, aside from a few of the more pulpy fruits, if they started to ferment. Their food tended to be a lot bolder on the spices, and starchier. He chewed a bit more before adding. “It’s different.”

Zuko was honestly a bit surprised by just how much of the food he enjoyed, considering how little overlap they shared with Fire Nation cuisine, beyond the general theme of seafood. He’d liked almost everything he’d tried, other than the weird overboiled ocean kumquats, which he had learned from Yue were called sea prunes. 

She’d insisted that they were a delicacy, and smiled so brightly when she’d asked if he liked them that he’d panicked and said yes. That had been a mistake, because now he found a serving offered to him every other meal, whether he took it in his rooms or in the dining hall. 

“Do you miss Fire Nation food?” Sokka asked. 

“Hm. Ash bananas, maybe,” Zuko said. Those really only grew on the islands. Of course, he could have anything he wanted when he was younger, in the Fire Palace, but they’d tasted especially good when they were just shy of overripe, plucked from the tree that leaned a little too far over the edge of the estate wall from the grove next door. “You don’t really have anything like it here. It tastes kind of like a smoked duri-apple, if you’ve had one of those, but less… mealy? They don’t travel well, and they get sort of brown and mushy in the cold. You can really only get them in the Fire Nation.”

“Yeah, I think I’ll pass,” Sokka said brusquely. 

Zuko turned back to his food and skewered another bite. He groped for change of topic. Something that had nothing to do with the Fire Nation, even though _Sokka_ had been the one to bring it up—

He latched onto the first thing that came to him. 

“Will you be back tomorrow?” Zuko asked. The question had been building in him for a while now, and he was relieved by how casually neutral his voice sounded. “Yue didn’t mention what she was busy with today.”

Sokka snorted. “Dude, she’s definitely not doing anything important. Pretty sure she’s just sneaking off so she can go make out with Katara,” he said. 

Zuko nearly choked on a fish ball. Sokka slapped him on the back unhelpfully, chuckling.

“Yeah,” Sokka nodded sagely. “It’s those big rabbit-doe eyes. You’d never suspect her.”

“She made it sound like…” Zuko trailed off. He didn’t really know what he’d thought she was doing, other than that he’d assumed it was important. 

Sokka set his food down. He gripped the edge of the wall so he could lean back slightly and raise an eyebrow at him.

“What, you’ve never played hooky before?” Sokka asked. 

He hadn’t, obviously. Partly because the idea of shirking his responsibilities so blatantly was just asking for his father to… No, he would never have risked it. He wouldn’t have had anyone to sneak off with, anyway, even if he had been brave enough. 

...Except. Well. 

He glanced over at Sokka, and fought the heat rising in his cheeks, because shirking his responsibilities and sneaking off was exactly what he was doing right now, with Sokka. That little thought struck through him like lightning, and slotted into place right alongside the idea of what one might _do_ while playing hooky.

He was suddenly hyper aware of how close their hands were to one another, resting on the half-wall between them, close enough to reach out, and oh, Agni, if he started thinking about it he was going to _think about it_ —

Zuko cleared his throat and very quickly changed the topic. 

“I’d assumed that Yue and Hahn... He seemed a bit—familiar at the welcome banquet,” Zuko said, recalling how he’d brushed his fingers down her arm. 

Sokka made a face, then paused for another bite. He shook his head. 

“Nah,” Sokka said. “I mean, they’d definitely thought about it when Yue was younger, as an arranged marriage thing, but... no.” He rolled his eyes. “Hahn’s probably just trying to keep his options open, in case Yue and Katara don’t work out. He used to try the same thing with me, too.”

“Oh. Why would he stop?” Zuko asked. And then he wanted to scream at himself, because—that made it seem like _Zuko_ wanted to… which he _did_ , but…

But, Sokka was handsome, and charming, and, apparently, a genius. And unlike Yue, he was also single, as far as Zuko could tell, not that he’d been paying attention to that. He couldn’t see any reason why Hahn wouldn’t want to...

Sokka scratched his nose. 

“I... might have punched him,” he said. 

“Oh,” Zuko said faintly. He pulled his hand back, just slightly. 

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” Sokka said, oblivious to Zuko’s reaction. “I guess he’s kinda good looking, if you can see past his jerk face. And I was—I mean, teenagers, you know?” Zuko didn’t know, but he wasn’t going to admit that. “So I was kind of into it, up until he opened his mouth. He really ruined the mood, once he started talking about all the _perks_ of dating the child of a chief. I just—”

Sokka mimed gagging. 

Zuko flushed, and bit his lip to keep the odd mix of amusement and relief off his face. He failed, probably, but Sokka just grinned at him, a little lopsided. His skin prickled at the attention. 

“Did he really say that?” Zuko asked. 

“Not the most charming thing to tell your date,” Sokka agreed. 

Zuko absolutely did not latch onto the words _kind of into it_ , or _date_. This was an old story, and Sokka had said so himself that that was just the way teenagers were—

(they still _were_ teenagers)

—so maybe he’d just been experimenting, or something, and it meant nothing about Sokka’s preferences now. He was _not_ going to ask, because all around that would be overeager, and embarrassing. 

“Anyway, I’d like to think he backed off because of that, but really I think he just decided I wasn’t worth the effort.” Sokka shrugged. “It’s not like I actually _do_ anything here, even if I am a ‘prince’.” He put that in air quotes, his face showing just how little he thought of that title. “Not like Yue does.” 

“I’m sure you do,” Zuko said immediately. Sokka gave him a funny look, and then laughed a little. It didn’t feel mean, except maybe at himself. Zuko frowned at him anyway, mostly not understanding. 

“Yue didn’t pull me away from anything important, if that’s what you mean,” Sokka said. He made a face. “It’s mostly meetings. Negotiations for the Reconstruction Project, stuff like that.” 

Zuko nodded hesitantly, suddenly regretting asking, because his grandfather’s ministers had definitely, explicitly told him not to bring up the Southern Water Tribe reconstruction unless he absolutely had to. Sokka didn’t even seem to notice, and Zuko wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or not as he worked himself up into a rant. 

“And not even like, the important meetings,” Sokka added. “Everyone knows the _real_ negotiations get done on hunts, or trials, but I’m not allowed to _do_ any of that, so.” 

Sokka huffed. Zuko almost asked why, but… Sokka sighed again, and looked vaguely embarrassed, maybe because it wasn’t exactly proper for a prince to whine about his duties. _Zuko_ certainly didn’t care. He definitely understood being—shut out. And, he wanted Sokka to tell him anything, really, but again, that was probably overeager and embarrassing, so—

“Trials?” he asked, grasping onto the first question he could ask that wasn’t—he hoped—a potential minefield of bad history. Sokka glanced at him. His shoulders relaxed slightly, maybe. 

“Like, coming of age trials,” Sokka said. “In the South, it’s ice dodging, but in the Northern Water Tribe it depends on the family? Usually a solo hunt, or if they’re a waterbender they can challenge a master.” Sokka snorted. “Katara’s already done hers, by the way. Otherwise she probably would have tried to challenge Pakku.” 

They lapsed into silence for a moment. Zuko watched the waves lap against the edge of the canal. Each one left behind a little film of slush over the delicate carvings, half-freezing in the open air before the water washed over them once more. Sokka cleared his throat.

“You know, that’s part of why I invited you. To lunch, I mean,” he said, breaking the silence. He shifted a little awkwardly, like he had when Zuko first walked into the study. “I wanted to thank you.”

Zuko glanced up at him, confused. 

“Thank me for what?” Zuko asked. 

“For helping Katara. She told me all about it—and I mean _all_ about it, in excruciating detail,” he said, sounding more fond than exasperated. “She was so excited.”

“I don’t… mind. Teaching,” he said. Zuko frowned. “I didn’t really do anything, though.”

Considering how much Katara had managed on her own, he doubted his presence had added much to her training, other than giving her a few new ideas. 

That first night, Zuko had sat and watched her practice for almost an hour before the cold had outdone his new warm coat. It was frightening, how quickly she’d picked up the few forms he’d shown her. That and the handful of times they’d met since had been enough to convince Zuko that she would have been fine, with or without his help. Sokka just shook his head at him. 

“Yeah, you did,” he said plainly. “I mean… Anyway. Her waterbending is really important to her. So thank you.”

Zuko didn’t know what to say to that, so he just shrugged and skewered another fish ball. 

“I’m gonna head back inside,” Sokka said after a while. “You coming?”

Zuko nodded and moved to stand. This time Sokka put his hand on Zuko’s arm to steady him as he stepped down. 

There was a knock on the door. Zuko was already dressed for the day, pulling on his new boots so that he could go meet Yue, so he didn’t need to keep them waiting long. Zuko pulled open the door to a woman he only vaguely recognized, closer to the chief’s age than his own. 

“Pardon the intrusion, Prince Zuko,” she said. “Chief Arnook has asked that you join him in the meeting hall this morning, as soon as you’re ready.”

Zuko’s stomach twisted, any calm he might have had from his morning routine whisking away. He searched the woman’s expression for any hint as to why, but she only smiled politely. For some reason that made his anxiety sink deeper, because—the servants always knew, didn't they? Why was she so calm? Should _he_ be calm? Maybe it was… nothing. Maybe...

“I’ll… be right there,” he managed, and somehow kept his voice even, despite his rapidly ratcheting heartbeat.

She bowed slightly, in the Fire Nation style he’d caught one of the more senior servants demonstrating not long after his arrival. He closed the door, perhaps slightly too quickly, and stood there with his fingers pressed firmly against the wood. 

Zuko snatched his hand back when he realized that the wood was growing rapidly warmer, before he could leave any permanent marks. He tucked his hands into his sleeves instead. 

He racked his brain for what he might have done to deserve a summons. The answer came easily, and his heart thumped faster. He took a steadying breath, and then exhaled forcefully, snuffing the fire in the hearth with it. Then he turned for the door, because keeping the chief waiting would do nothing to help him, and Zuko knew very well that ‘as soon as you’re ready’ meant ‘immediately without delay’.

Zuko made the walk to the meeting hall in the shortest time he ever had, and only hesitated at the door again for a moment before he remembered the confusion on Chief Arnook’s face the last time he’d come to the meeting hall. He let himself inside without knocking. 

They’d obviously been waiting for him. Zuko tried not to freeze in the doorway like a rabbit-deer when every head in the room turned towards him. Almost immediately Zuko picked out Sokka from the group, and for once he was glad of all that court training he’d been forced to practice through, alone, as though he’d _ever_ get the chance to use it on anyone but his tutors or himself in a mirror, because he managed to keep his expression politely blank, when the only thing in his mind was a static of anxiety. 

Had Chief Arnook noticed that they’d taken the afternoon off? Did he… disapprove, even though they’d finished their work for the day, and Sokka had insisted it would be fine—

But Sokka didn’t look nervous. Then again, it wasn’t technically Sokka’s job to be training him, anyway. Oh, maybe that was worse, maybe the Chief had learned that Zuko was distracting _Sokka_ from his duties, now, too, and not even for a good reason...

Sokka had a strange look on his face, something between mischievous and a put-upon wide-eyed innocence. It was an odd combination. Chief Arnook looked deeply unamused. 

“Prince Zuko,” Chief Arnook said. “I hear you’ve finished your orientation.”

“Almost, sir,” he said, because they still had a few books to go through, mostly contemporary instructional manuals which Yue said would be better served as supplementary to more practical experiences. She hadn’t introduced him to any of their craftsmen, but he wasn’t sure if that was because she was having difficulty finding someone willing to meet with the prince of the Fire Nation, or because they were as busy as she claimed. 

Zuko wasn’t in any particular hurry for her to find him a tutor, if only because he actually enjoyed the princess’s company. He was going to be disappointed when they no longer had a need to meet, even if Yue was probably looking forward to being free of the responsibility of chaperoning him. He probably _should_ be in a hurry. The sooner he learned everything he needed to, the sooner he might get to go home, but he was strangely reluctant to move on. He’d… enjoyed Yue’s company, so far.

“Prince Sokka suggested you might like to see more than the palace,” Chief Arnook said. “And I have to agree. The palace isn’t the best representation of what the Northern Water Tribe has to offer if you’re here to learn.” He paused, and then with emphasis that was entirely intended for Sokka, added, “ _But_ if you’re going to leave the city you need to be very careful. I want you to—”

“Yeah, yeah, we get it. No reckless behavior, no dangerous activities, blah blah,” Sokka said. 

Zuko’s head snapped up, stomach swooping. What was he—did he speak to his father like this all the time? Sokka waved his hand dismissively in front of him, like he couldn’t be bothered to hear the rest of what the chief had to say, like his stunningly disrespectful tone alone wasn’t grounds for—

Chief Arnook hardly batted an eye at his rudeness. Instead he squinted at him with open suspicion. “What did you have in mind?”

“Ice fishing,” Sokka said. 

“Ice fishing,” Chief Arnook repeated, skepticism dripping off each word. 

“It’s an important part of Water Tribe culture,” Sokka said cheerfully.

“It is,” he agreed at length, “and I suppose you’re qualified to teach him, if you’re volunteering. I want you back by the evening meal whether they’re biting or not—” Sokka was already nodding along. Zuko felt very much like he was missing something, and not just in the usual way he’d been grappling with since he’d arrived in the city. 

“Fine,” Chief Arnook sighed. 

Zuko didn’t miss the fond and amused looks the chief and the other warriors were sending Sokka’s way as he enthusiastically shooed Zuko out into the hall—baffling—or the fact that Sokka had been shockingly rude to the Chief in front of all of his men and he hadn’t even seemed to care. Seriously, he didn’t understand the Water Tribes at all. 

They were headed back towards their rooms. Zuko hurried a few steps, so that Sokka wouldn’t outpace him entirely. 

He had no idea how to ice fish, or fish in general, actually. He imagined the Fire Nation fishing boats that docked in the bay, nets full and wriggling with silver-scaled eel-mackerel. That couldn’t possibly be what they fished for here, beneath the ice. Sokka leaned back as they rounded the corner, glancing over Zuko’s shoulder quickly. 

“I’ve never been ice fishing before...” Zuko began. 

Sokka’s hands closed around Zuko’s wrists, all decorum sweeping away, blue eyes glittering with mischief. For a moment Zuko’s breath caught, because Sokka was leaning in, eyes bright, excitement twisting his lips up into a stunning smile. Oh, spirits, was this happening? A million racing thoughts passed through his head, and he really had no idea what Sokka was going to say, except—

“So you’re gonna teach me how to swordfight, right?” Sokka asked.

Well. Not that.

“Uhh,” Zuko said, because his heart was suddenly thumping in his chest, and Sokka was leaning in so eagerly that Zuko’s brain ground to a halt. He hesitated, backtracked. He was—how did he even know that Zuko knew _how_ to sword fight well enough to teach? He supposed he must have heard about it from Katara, or… or maybe he’d been watching him in the courtyard after all. The thought sent a little thrill through him, which he quickly squashed down. 

He hesitated for slightly too long. Sokka leaned away, a little uncertain. Zuko unstuck his tongue and chased that closeness with a hasty excuse. 

“I—you—” Zuko said. “The Chief said no dangerous activities.”

“What’s dangerous about it? It’s not like we’ll be sword fighting for real,” Sokka said. “Just don’t stab me. Problem solved.”

That was a poor excuse, and they both knew it. The idea of defying Sokka’s father rolled uncomfortably in his stomach. He hardly knew the man, but he… this was his palace, surely there would be consequences for disobeying him. Zuko couldn’t just—never mind if he _did_ disobey him, and word of his disrespect somehow reached the Fire Nation. His throat tightened, just at the thought, and he cleared it roughly. 

“I really… shouldn’t,” Zuko said. 

“Oh, come on! You’re teaching Katara stuff! I want to learn stuff, too,” he said. “What, are you afraid we’ll get caught?”

“No,” Zuko said, maybe too quickly to be convincing, and painfully aware of how the question alone made his heart flutter. He amended, “I don’t want to get you in trouble.”

“I get in trouble all the time,” Sokka said. 

His casual confirmation settled in Zuko’s stomach like a stone. Sokka just seemed unbothered, like he was used to the idea, which did nothing to force down the tight dread crawling up his spine, at the thought of disobeying the chief, and knowingly abandoning his duties to go fool around even after being expressly told to avoid anything dangerous, and the consequences that disobedience might bring...

But then Sokka smiled, teeth glinting white, cheeks flush with excitement at the idea, and so unexpectedly genuine that Zuko’s heart stuttered in his chest, and he thought—well.

One afternoon couldn’t hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of this chapter was inspired by [this art by @dickpuncherdraws](https://dickpuncherdraws.tumblr.com/post/628841519586181120/dickpuncherdraws-peachieflames-moon-spirit).


	5. Chapter 5

They had warned Zuko against straying too far into the coastal plains when he’d first arrived. More accurately, he’d been warned not to leave the city at all, lest he get lost and freeze to death. Zuko hadn’t seen any appeal in the idea anyway, considering how poorly his Fire Nation robes held up even within the wind-buffered city walls. He’d been warned, specifically, against the coastal plains, though, because the terrain was treacherous and easy to get lost in, the fauna, including arctic wolves and wild polar bear dogs, unfriendly, and the ice deceptively thin in places, dangerously easy to fall through and drown in the frigid waters below.

This warning had been a sufficient enough deterrent to Zuko.

Sokka did not seem in the least bit worried as he slung the bundle containing their fishing gear over his shoulder—with Zuko’s dual dao buried carefully beneath—and headed off onto the ice. He hesitated only once, when he’d spotted a group of warriors off in the distance. 

“Act natural,” he said. Which, for Zuko, meant standing there vaguely shivering in the wind while Sokka pretended to contemplate a potential fishing spot until the warriors had gone on far enough that they could no longer see whether Sokka and Zuko peeled off for the coast—where the ice depth was prime for fishing, according to Sokka—or further into the plains.

His new coat did a good job of keeping him warm, at least. 

“Where are we going?” Zuko asked. He glanced back, and he could just see the distant shape of Agna Qel'a in the distance. “Couldn’t we have done this in the courtyard?”

“Well, you can't ice fish in the courtyard, so that would make our cover story a little suspicious,” Sokka said. Zuko still wasn’t sure how he felt about _needing_ a cover story, considering that he was a guest in the palace with very specific duties he was now purposefully ignoring. Sokka must have seen his apprehension in his expression, because he waved dismissively and continued, “It’ll be fine. We’ll go. I’ll describe the general idea of ice fishing to you, you can show me some moves, and then if anyone asks, we’ll just tell them we didn’t catch anything.”

“It’s just up ahead,” Sokka added, and pointed toward a stretch of snow and rock that looked no different than the snow and rock they’d been trudging past for the last hour. Zuko eyed it skeptically, but at this point he really had no choice other than to continue on after him.

Zuko had to admit it was a pretty good spot. The stone ridges jutting up through the snow worked as a natural windbreak, so that the fresh snow drifts around the other side were hardly any deeper than the soles of his boots. The snow beneath was hard-packed and bore their weight easily, even when Zuko gave the ground a few experimental stomps. 

Sokka set his bundle down, and dug past the fishing supplies for the leather case holding Zuko’s swords. Zuko took it and held it awkwardly for a moment.

“All right, I guess I’ll… show you some forms?” Zuko suggested. He pulled his dao free from their sheath with one hand. He held one out hilt-first for Sokka to take. 

“And then we can spar,” Sokka said eagerly. 

“We’re not sparring,” Zuko said. “You don’t even know how to hold a sword properly.”

“Afraid I’ll get the drop on you?” Sokka asked. He swung the sword around for emphasis. 

“You’re more likely to cut yourself than you are to cut me,” Zuko said. Sokka huffed, mock-offended. 

“You don’t know that. Maybe I’m a natural talent,” Sokka said. 

Zuko privately hoped he wasn’t, because Sokka already had _handsome_ and _genius_ going for him, and he wasn’t really sure what he’d do with himself if he went for the trifecta. He cleared his throat. 

“Uh. Anyway,” he said. “Let’s start with your stance.”

Sokka shifted his feet apart and placed both hands on the hilt of the sword. His grip was probably too tight. Zuko prodded at his left foot with his sheath until Sokka had shifted his stance slightly wider. 

“That’s actually pretty good. Have you done this before?” he asked. 

“No. Yes. Kind of?” he said. Zuko waited patiently for him to pick one. “When I was a kid, before the war ended. I idolized the other warriors. I wanted to be just like them,” he said. “Anyway, it’s been years. No one wants to actually teach me, and if I try to learn on my own they get really weird about it.”

“Like with Katara and her waterbending?” Zuko asked. He reached out and touched the back of Sokka’s hand through his glove and urged his hands a bit further apart. He put his other hand on Sokka’s elbow, feather light, and that was enough to encourage him to bend the joint without comment. If Zuko was slow to pull his hand back, it was just to make sure he held that form. 

“No. Pakku sucks. Katara’s _actually_ not allowed to learn waterbending,” Sokka said. “With me they just treat me like I’m fragile, as if I can’t handle anything more than a dummy spear and beginner forms. It gets old, but… I feel bad complaining. Katara’s got it worse than I do.”

“Sounds frustrating,” Zuko said. 

“It is,” Sokka said. “And trying to convince them that I can handle myself is exhausting.”

“Is it because you’re a prince, or… is it the whole moon spirit… thing?” Zuko asked. 

Sokka blinked. “Did Yue tell you that?” 

It hadn’t occurred to Zuko until just that moment that Yue might have told him that in confidence. He fidgeted. “Yeah. Sorry,” Zuko said. 

“Uh, no, it’s fine,” Sokka said. He frowned, more thoughtful than unhappy. “That’s part of it. A lot of people are really spiritual, especially in the North, so they kind of… make a big deal out of it? Anyway, that’s why I wanted to come out here to get away from everyone.”

Zuko hummed in agreement. It was nice to be out of the palace. Of course, he was grateful for the hospitality that Chief Arnook had shown him, and he wasn’t sure what he would have done without Princess Yue’s guidance. Still, he’d never enjoyed the constant scrutiny of palace life—even as a child, he’d found it stressful, and the expectations difficult to live up to. 

The awkward stares and rudeness bordering on hostility he’d experienced that first night in Agna Qel'a had lessened significantly in his time in the city, but he still felt a bit self-conscious, like he didn’t quite belong. Sokka… probably understood that more than anyone. No matter where he went, people would take one look at him and recognize the spirit-touched prince. 

Being out in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but white snow and silence stretching for miles was freeing. He didn’t have to worry about people staring, about staying perfectly poised and princely, about following court procedure and representing the Fire Nation with honor. He could just… breathe. 

Zuko could see why Sokka wanted to come out here. 

“Okay,” Zuko said. He took up a position beside Sokka, _well_ out of range, and raised his sword. “I’m not much of a teacher, but… try to follow along.” 

The thickness of his coat had annoyed him, at first, but after he’d had the chance to practice alongside Katara he’d gotten used to how it hindered his movements. Sokka didn’t even seem to notice, as he copied each stroke that Zuko demonstrated. It made sense—he was more used to wearing heavy clothing like this than not. For Zuko, it still felt a bit restricting, especially on the moves meant to parry a blow, for which his teacher had emphasized the need for speed and precision above all else. 

Zuko turned and watched Sokka parry an invisible enemy as Zuko had shown him. He turned his foot out, just as Zuko had demonstrated, even without him telling him to. His stance, the angle of his elbows, all good. His hands—

Zuko reached over, and Sokka stopped before he could repeat the swing. He laid one gloved hand over his and guided his hands further apart again, “Loosen your grip, just a bit, and move your hands—yes, just like that,” Zuko said. “You’ll be able to adjust easier, if you’re not gripping it like you’re trying to squeeze the life out of it.”

Sokka gave him a peculiar look. He seemed for a moment as though he was about to say something. He bit his cheek and nodded, instead. Zuko squinted at him, feeling self-conscious and unsure why, but he didn’t explain himself. 

Sokka cleared his throat. “You’re good at this,” he said. 

“I’ve been training since I was a child,” he said. Sokka didn’t even try to hide his jealousy at that. Zuko shrugged, a bit self-consciously. “I mean—it was the only thing I was ever really good at. And that was… mine, I guess. My sister never had any interest in bladed weapons.”

“I guess I wouldn’t either, if I could shoot fire from my hands,” Sokka said. 

“Uh, well,” Zuko said. “I guess… I’d just rather have a sword. It’s—meditative. And takes discipline, not that, uh, not that firebending doesn’t, but it’s different...”

He trailed off, uncertain what he was even trying to say, other than to make excuses for himself. Of course, his father hardly tolerated his sword lessons, allowing them no more than weekly, and only very grudgingly after Master Piandao had insisted that Zuko showed great promise with the dual dao. He was still irrationally proud of that, even years later, even knowing that his father had likely put the conversation from his mind as soon as it was over. It was one thing that he was certain Azula would never best him in. 

Not that it mattered to anyone other than him—he hadn’t been permitted to continue his training under Master Piandao after he’d left the Fire Palace, and if his new teacher had thought Zuko had promise, he’d never mentioned it to anyone. Besides that, no matter how good he was, it was still shameful for a prince to prefer to use a blade over his own bending. Even Sokka agreed that firebending would be preferable.

“Anyway,” Zuko said. “Let’s see that one again.”

He gestured for Sokka to restart the same set, this time just to see what parts he remembered from Zuko’s demonstration. The answer was—most of it, and with a reckless enthusiasm that Zuko definitely hadn’t taught him. 

Zuko suspected that Sokka remembered everything he was showing him perfectly well, but he kept adding in little creative flourishes. It would be annoying, if only Sokka would stop smiling at him like that. It was hard to say no, or suggest that they stop for the day, when Sokka seemed so excited to try, and… Zuko had no right to be as distracted as he was, they were both sweaty and wearing enough layers of fur that there really shouldn’t have been anything to be distracted by. 

“Well?” Sokka demanded. He was already grinning, knowing what Zuko was going to say. His cheeks were pink from exertion, little hairs plastered to his forehead and neck. Zuko pointedly didn’t stare, kept his free hand tucked in his sleeve, and resisted the urge to brush his hair back into place. 

“Good. You did good, ” Zuko said. “You’re actually picking this up fairly quickly. Maybe we _can_ spar.”

“Really?” Sokka asked, so eagerly that Zuko felt a little bad letting him down. 

“Well. Not right now,” Zuko said. “We don’t have training swords, and I don’t think you’re ready to be swinging a real blade at a person.”

Sokka hummed, clearly dissatisfied. 

“Fine. Fair,” he said. “You owe me a sparring match, then.”

“It won’t be much of a match,” Zuko promised him. The noise Sokka made could only be described as an indignant squawk. Zuko snorted, and shifted his feet. He was tempted to try an intermediate form—one of the first ones he’d learned after he’d mastered the basics—if only to see how Sokka handled it. 

“Hey,” Sokka said. He was swinging the sword around, working himself up to something. His form was actually very good. His teacher still would have hated it. Every movement was supposed to have a purpose, but… the gesture was so very Sokka that Zuko didn’t try to stop him.

(Master Piandao… might not have objected. Zuko remembered the kinds of things he’d made him practice, many of them not even _using_ a sword, and they’d certainly been… creative.)

Sokka glanced over at him. “Thank you for teaching me. I—”

Another cold gust of wind cut through him. It felt like every other gust of wind he’d braced against all day, but something about it made Sokka freeze mid-swing. He turned his face up toward the snow-white sky. 

“Uh oh,” Sokka said. 

“Uh oh… what?” Zuko asked, squinting in the direction Sokka was looking.

“There’s a storm coming,” Sokka said. He dropped his stance and cast around for his bag. “Ah, okay, let’s....”

“Wh—how can you tell?” Zuko interrupted him. 

“How can you not? Just look at the sky,” Sokka said. Zuko did, and tried to see whatever Sokka saw there. It looked like every other vaguely gray-white sky he’d seen since he arrived at the North Pole. He turned back to Sokka, but he had already turned around to shove the sword back into its wrappings with the unused fishing poles. 

“Shit,” Sokka muttered, half to himself. “Shit, it’s getting late.” 

Zuko had noticed, when the sun had started it’s descent, and the shadows had started to grow long. He’d thought that Sokka was paying attention to the time, and… he’d been having fun. He hadn’t wanted to be the one to tell Sokka they needed to stop, either.

“We should go,” Zuko said. “Maybe we can still...”

Sokka glanced up at him, down again, shaking his head. “I hate to break it to you, but they’ve definitely noticed that we didn’t go ice fishing by now.”

Zuko’s heart sank. “But the, uh, evening meal? If we left now…”

“We’d just get caught in the storm,” Sokka said. He pulled the tie closed on his bag harshly, a quiet rebuke. “I’m sorry. I should have been paying attention.”

“So what do we do?” Zuko asked. He tugged his sleeves down further, fingers clenched around the fur cuff. 

“Wait it out,” Sokka said with a shrug. He glanced over at Zuko, and whatever he saw on his face made his expression soften. “It’ll be fine. There’s shelter up the ridge there. This time of year, it’ll blow over quickly.” 

The wind picked up fiercely halfway through their walk up the ridge. Zuko squinted through the snow and tugged his hood tighter around his face. Even with the coat, the chill cut right through him. The snow pelting his face stung. Sokka paused and shielded his face from the wind, then turned back to look at him. They locked eyes for barely a moment, and then Sokka reached for his hand.

So we don’t get separated, Zuko firmly reminded himself. Very quickly it became apparent that it was a good idea. Another few minutes, and the snow kicking up off the ground turned the whole landscape ahead of them white. 

“How do you know we’re going the right way?” he tried to ask, and then cut himself off when he caught sight of Sokka’s face, obscured behind the white haze of snow whipping between them. He looked like he was… counting his steps under his breath. Zuko squinted at him, the sky, and the path ahead, but the wind was too strong and the snow stung his eyes. He turned his face down, tugged his hood up, and followed Sokka’s feet. 

He nearly knocked into him when Sokka stopped. The snow was already up to their knees in places, blown into deep drifts by the wind. He dragged himself forward as Sokka started to jog ahead toward a looming shadow in the snow.

“That looks like a house,” Zuko shouted over the wind. “Are we breaking into someone’s house?”

“What? No, dude, no one lives here,” Sokka said. He tugged him forward. “It’s a temporary shelter. They’re all over. We use them for hunting. Or, y’know, getting caught out in a blizzard during a sword training exercise.”

Sokka dragged him over to the lumpy edge of the shelter. Zuko really couldn’t make out more than the misshapen form of it through the snow. He wasn’t even sure how Sokka had seen it. Sokka kicked at the edge of it, knocking free whole sheets of ice into the snow, and then dragged the door aside. 

It really did look like a house carved into the ice. The front entrance descended into a narrow stairway, partly buried in the snow. Sokka dropped to his knees and scraped a few armfuls of snow free, then leaned up over the top of the structure to sweep a bit of snow off the top. He paused and seemed satisfied with whatever he saw there. 

The inside was a lot bigger than Zuko expected, dug deep below the surface of the snow. Sokka climbed over to the other side of the room, where a pallet of furs was laid out on a raised platform. Zuko joined him as Sokka leaned his bag against the wall.

There was a crate by the wall, covered in a thin layer of ice and fastened shut with a metal clasp. Sokka dragged it toward him. He tried the latch and found it frozen. He huffed and scraped his hand over the hinge, until a thin sheet of ice crumbled off. 

“Do you need light?” Zuko asked, tugging off his glove. 

“What do you think I’m doing?” Sokka grumbled. “The tinder’s inside the—what the _fuck_ Zuko!”

Sokka jerked back from his outstretched hand. 

And then Zuko flinched, and his brain just went _white_ , as Sokka whirled around with his arm raised and _shit, shit, what did he do_ —?

Sokka didn’t grab him. He shoved him away, hard enough to knock Zuko back onto the ice. For a moment they gaped at each other, equally stunned into silence, as frozen as the walls around them. Zuko pressed one unsteady hand against his shoulder, but... Sokka hadn’t even hit him that hard. He was fine, he’d just startled him, or something, he...

The little flame Zuko had lit in his palm winked out. 

“ _What_?” Zuko asked, voice just shy of too loud, heart hammering from surprise. 

Sokka grimaced, suddenly self-conscious, gripping the front of his coat with both hands as though to still his own heart. 

“You’re a firebender?” he asked, nearly shouted, breath just shy of too quick to be comfortable.

Zuko—Zuko didn’t know what to say to that. He scooted back a little, until his back hit the wall of the shelter. His heart was still hammering too quick against his ribs. He didn’t try to get up. 

“I’m the Fire Lord’s grandson,” Zuko said plainly. 

“So?” Sokka asked, still a little too loud.

“So of course I’m a firebender,” Zuko snapped. 

“Well, _how was I supposed to know_?” Sokka said. “No one mentioned it, and I’ve never seen you firebend! Katara said you told her you were a _nonbender_!”

“I never said that,” Zuko said, brows furrowed. He’d shown her a firebending move hadn’t he? Though he’d been talking about Azula at the time, and he’d been too tired to put any real heat into it, so maybe she’d assumed… 

Now that he thought of it, they’d never seen him practicing, either, because he’d been slacking on that too. He hadn’t mentioned his bending, because he doubted Katara would appreciate hearing how ungrateful he was, when he’d been offered the formal training she’d been denied. 

“Zuko, you _just_ told me that you’ve only ever been good at using swords!” Sokka said, exasperated. 

“Well… I _am_ only good at using my swords,” Zuko said, feeling defensive suddenly, and frustrated he needed to justify himself in this. “I wasn’t lying when I said Azula was a prodigy. I could never keep up. And… I’m a prince. How could you not—of course I firebend,” he settled on. 

“That doesn’t mean anything! Yue is the princess, and she doesn’t waterbend. I don’t waterbend, either,” he said. 

“Well...” Zuko said. His father would never have tolerated a nonbender for a son. He hardly tolerated Zuko’s weak firebending as it was. Even when he’d trained his bending daily, without breaks, his best could hardly stand up against Azula’s worst. It was something Zuko had frequently been reminded of growing up. It was hardly a skill worth boasting, “...It’s different in the Fire Nation.”

Sokka just stared at him, strangely torn between frustration and something else more darkly inscrutable. Zuko felt a little pang of anxiety as a thought occurred. 

“Does it… bother you? That I’m a firebender?” Zuko asked. 

The question seemed to startle him, and the dark look whisked away from his expression just as quickly as it had come. Sokka hesitated, slightly too long to be comfortable. 

“It… No,” he said at length. “It doesn’t bother me. I’m sorry for—you just startled me. Spirits.”

“I’m sorry,” Zuko said, unsure what else _to_ say to that. He felt strangely self-conscious, as though somehow it was his fault, like he’d been lying. Which—he’d assumed it was obvious that he was a firebender, considering who he was. He didn’t realize it was something he needed to mention. “Uh. Do you still want…?” 

Zuko wiggled his fingers a bit, then dropped his hand back into his lap. 

“Do you think you can light a fire?” Sokka asked. 

“Yes,” Zuko said, deadpan. Slowly, he got to his feet. “I think I can manage that.”

Sokka turned back to the crate and knocked another chunk of ice off it. Zuko hesitated, and then reached out to touch the hinge with his bare hand. He breathed, and the hinge steamed faintly as the ice melted. Sokka watched with a conflicted expression on his face until the last little wisps of ice melted away. 

There were more furs inside the box, with dry kindling buried at the bottom, along with spark rocks that Zuko didn’t need. 

There was a little hollow in the floor toward the front of the room, near the entrance. A gentle breeze whistled in through the ventilation shafts in the ceiling, but compared to the cutting winds from the storm raging outside, it was hardly noticeable. The ice was tinged grey with soot, evidence of shelter’s last occupants. 

The kindling almost looked like a sea plant, some kind of kelp, stringy and grayish-green after drying. The plant was strangely greasy, and caught fire easily with a smoky-sweet aroma that reminded him of the food stall cooking fires in the marketplace. 

There were three tightly packed bricks of the stuff, wrapped in oil cloth to keep them dry. Zuko wondered whether they should have brought their own kindling, or where they would even find more, out on the tundra. He pulled a handful of stringy threads apart and breathed a few embers to life. 

He was happier not thinking too much about what the fuel chips were, as he added them to the hungry little flame. Zuko took a breath, and steadied it, controlling the burn the same way his firebending teacher had shown him all those years ago, with a small hole burning through the center of a leaf. Sokka seemed transfixed as the fire rose and fell with his breath before steadying, radiating a gentle warmth. Zuko glanced back up at him when he was done, strangely compelled by the need to see Sokka’s reaction. 

Sokks had already turned away again, back to the crate. He dug around inside for a moment more, and pulled out the remaining furs to set aside on the raised platform at the back of the room. 

Zuko… didn’t really know what to do with himself, now that the fire was lit. He sat, at first with his knees bent under him, and then shifted around to sit with his legs crossed, as he had that first night in the banquet hall. He waited, and watched Sokka dig through the contents of the crate. 

After a moment of aimless digging—Zuko wasn’t certain whether he was actually looking for something, or simply absently occupying his hands, lost in thought—Sokka turned. He settled with his legs crossed next to Zuko, and dragged his bag over from where he’d set it against the wall and into his lap. 

He sat for a moment, staring broodily into the fire, before he turned and snatched one of the furs from behind him. He thrust it at Zuko without preamble, and then turned to grab one for himself.

Zuko fiddled with the seam on the inside of his sleeve. 

“Uh,” he said, and then lost his nerve. Sokka waited patiently, or maybe indifferently, for him to find it again. “Is that… all? That’s inside the crate, I mean.”

“You wanted something else?” Sokka asked. 

“Well. No. It’s fine. Thank you for the blanket. Just… You leave furs and kindling for anyone to use. Couldn’t you leave food, too?” Zuko asked. 

“You could, if you wanted to come back and find your shelter ripped up and turned into a polar bear dog den,” Sokka said.

Oh. Zuko hadn’t even considered that, but now he was very aware of the smoky-sweet smell of the fire wafting out over the tundra, and what else might be lurking out in the storm to notice it. He shifted a little. At least he had his swords, and his firebending—

Sokka nudged him gently. He glanced up, and saw that Sokka’s sour expression had softened somewhat, a little amused smile tugging the corner of this mouth. 

“They’re more scared of you than you are of them,” Sokka said, as though reading his mind. “They actually make really cute pets, too, if you raise them from a cub. I mean, they grow to be like, eight feet tall, so they’re a lot of work and they eat you out of house and home, but… what?”

“Nothing, just,” Zuko said. He didn’t know how to thank him for trying to be reassuring without sounding like a coward. “No. Nothing.”

“Are you hungry?” Sokka asked after a moment, like he was just remembering how they got onto the topic. 

“Oh,” Zuko said. “Yeah, a little. I mean. It’s fine.” 

Sokka dug around in his pack for a moment. He pulled out a small bundle of brown cloth and set it in his lap to unwrap it. He held the contents up for Zuko to take a look. Dried meats, mostly, cut thin and charred slightly on the edges, and a small ceramic jar held closed with a piece of string.

“I—this is yours,” Zuko said. 

“Well, I’m not going to just eat it in front of you. How much of a jerk do you think I…” he trailed off, as Zuko battled with the wry smile threatening to take over his face. Sokka flushed as he seemed to remember doing exactly that the other morning, when he’d dragged Zuko through the market on the way to see Healer Yugoda. “Actually, don’t answer that. Eat your seal jerky. Ungrateful. I can’t do this with you.”

Zuko took his half obediently, and kindly did not poke fun at Sokka’s hasty topic change. 

He’d eaten seal steak in the palace. Zuko assumed this was the same thing, basically, just… dry? Either way, he wasn’t going to say no, when it was kind of Sokka to share. He bit into the corner, and grimaced at how tough and chewy it was. Sokka chuckled at his expression.

“Too bad we never caught those fish,” Sokka said. 

Zuko was certain with his luck that even if they’d actually gone fishing, he wouldn’t have caught a damn thing. He wondered whether Sokka was any better. Considering that they’d found themselves stranded in a snowstorm—probably not. 

Sokka handed him the little ceramic jar, and turned back toward the crate. Zuko fiddled with the ties and peeked inside, surprised to find it contained tea leaves. He didn’t know enough about tea to tell what kind it was, but it had to be imported, likely from the Earth Kingdom. Zuko wasn’t as fond of tea as his uncle, but it was probably expensive to get in the North Pole, and that made it feel special. The thought made him suddenly, irrationally homesick, which… didn’t really make sense, considering he had tea all the time...

Sokka thrust a little tin pot under his nose, cutting that thought off before it could fully form. A warm drink would be good, right now. Zuko took it back to the entryway to scoop up some of the untouched snow gathering outside, and paused for a moment to stare out into the howling wind. There was nothing out there, a torrential wall of pure white snow stretching out against the growing darkness of the evening. He quickly shuffled back inside.

“I’m not very good at making tea,” Zuko warned him. Uncle had tried to show him when he was younger. He never got the temperature right, and anyway, it all tasted mostly the same to him, so he really never cared to learn. 

The tea smelled earthy and faintly floral, thankfully nothing like the awful drink he’d mistaken for tea during the welcome banquet. 

“We don’t drink this kind of tea often, here,” Sokka said. “Usually it’s saved for special occasions. And now guests, I guess.”

Zuko hadn’t considered that, but now that he thought of it, they’d served him tea with almost every meal. It was beyond generous, with a drink that was expensive, and had to be imported. For some reason that thought settled uncomfortably under his ribs. He cleared his throat. 

“Yeah, I… uh, noticed that you didn’t serve tea at the welcome banquet,” Zuko said. Sokka looked confused for just a moment, and then amusement edged into his expression as he realized what Zuko was talking about—that awful, viscous concoction he’d nearly choked on. “What _was_ that, by the way?”

“Fermented buffalo yak milk,” Sokka said. He nodded sagely at Zuko’s disgust. “Oh yeah, it’s definitely an acquired taste. Northern Water Tribe thing. Personally, I think it’s super gross. The look on your face was hilarious, though.”

“I was mortified,” Zuko admitted. 

“Hilarious,” Sokka insisted. “I was a bit too busy being grumpy that I had to sit next to you to appreciate it, though.” 

Zuko hummed. The chief had probably hoped that they would… get to know each other, instead of sitting in silent discomfort until it was acceptable to move seats. Zuko hadn’t missed the fact that he’d been seated next to Princess Yue at every meal after. 

The thought of the chief set an unwelcome prick of anxiety through him. He didn’t even want to _think_ about what the chief’s reaction must have been when they failed to return from their ice-fishing trip. 

There was nothing he could do about it now, so he tried not to dwell on it. They didn’t have a teapot, so he scooped the leaves straight into the tin pot to steep. 

Zuko poured the tea carefully into the two cups Sokka produced from the box, carefully straining the leaves out with the back of a spoon. He adjusted his grip on the handle a bit nervously. He _wasn’t_ dwelling on it. But. 

“I suppose… when we get back,” Zuko said. “Chief Arnook will want an explanation.”

Sokka glanced up at him. He waved a dismissive hand. 

“It’s fine. I’ll handle it,” Sokka said. 

Not having to face the chief himself—that was... a nice idea, though he didn’t see how Sokka thought he could simply _handle it_. Zuko felt vaguely sick with the notion, and how easily Sokka had admitted that he was frequently in trouble for disobedience, and how brazenly he’d spoken with his father, when he was getting permission to go ice fishing. 

“Will you be all right?” Zuko asked. Sokka looked confused, so he clarified, “You said earlier. That you get in... trouble, all the time.”

“Yeah,” Sokka said, an odd expression passing over his face. “Like, lectured at or whatever. Big deal. What else are they going to do? It’s not like they can smother me any more than they already are.”

“Right,” Zuko said faintly. Relief hit him in a rush. “No, I didn’t mean to suggest—right.” 

He’d just assumed—but that wasn’t what Sokka had meant at all, obviously. Zuko tucked his hands under his arms, bracing against the cold even as he felt the heat rising in his cheeks. 

“That would be... and, your father seems like a good man,” Zuko finished lamely. 

For a moment Sokka stared at him, and Zuko thought maybe he’d seen through his poor attempt to recover. Instead he frowned deeper, tilted his head, and said, “Chief Arnook isn’t my dad.”

“He… what?” Zuko asked.

“My dad is Chief Hakoda,” he said. 

Zuko had no idea who that was. “So when they call you Prince Sokka…”

“Of the _Southern_ Water Tribe,” Sokka said. He paused, then, and shrugged almost self-consciously. “The title… means more here, than it did back home.”

The Southern Water Tribe. “So your sister…?”

“Katara,” Sokka said, with a little puzzled smile. “Not Yue.”

Zuko stared at him. Sokka was grinning more and more widely with every second, _obviously_ teasing. They were both sitting on the same fur, on the same side of the fire. It was definitely too close, for the look Sokka was giving him. Zuko pressed his thumbs to his eyes, and groaned. 

“I feel stupid,” Zuko admitted. “Sorry. I just assumed…” Sokka huffed a laugh. 

“Well, I thought you were a nonbender, so,” Sokka shrugged. “Besides, I know it’s a little weird, with the children of the Southern Water Tribe Chief living at the North Pole. No one told you?” 

Zuko shook his head. He was only feeling a little betrayed. Yue _definitely_ could have mentioned that Sokka wasn’t her brother, or even that Katara was a princess too, technically, even if the Southern Water Tribe apparently didn’t care about the title. 

He drummed his fingers against the side of his cup thoughtfully. “What _are_ you doing living in the North?” Zuko asked. 

“We…” Sokka’s expression flickered, and his amusement died away. Zuko regretted the question almost immediately. Sokka’s teasing smile was gone. “That’s… a long story. And not a very fun one.”

“Oh,” Zuko said. He hesitated a moment. The beat stretched long, and… Zuko took a sip of his tea, still too hot, he didn’t care, the burn was familiar—

“It’s all right, if you don’t want to talk about it,” Zuko said. 

For a long moment Sokka just looked at him, face unnaturally blank compared to the expressiveness Zuko had grown used to. After the silence had stretched between them almost too long Sokka sighed, quietly, and turned his gaze back to the fire. It cast severe shadows across his face. 

“Katara and I lived at the South Pole until I was nine years old,” Sokka said. His fingers flexed against his knee. “Our village was attacked by… well. This was before the war ended. Our village was attacked.” 

Zuko’s stomach swooped, his cup crushed between his hands. Sokka continued, 

“They’d heard there was a waterbender in our village. I don’t… I have no idea how they knew, but they were sure of it. My dad took the other men to try to stop them, but one of them got past them, somehow.”

“I saw him headed toward our house, and I—Katara and I had been out playing, but our mom was at home. I tried—I was so stupid, I was only _nine_ , but I tried to stop him.”

Without looking up, Sokka picked at the top ties of his coat. He tugged the collar down, revealing a thin pale scar at the base of his neck, near the collarbone. He pulled it further, for a brief moment, and Zuko sucked in a breath at the sight of the ragged scar, stretching from his neck down to his chest and disappearing beneath the layers of his coat. Sokka smoothed the fabric back down and refastened the ties against the chill. Then he hugged his knees. Zuko was tempted to stoke the fire, but—he doubted it was the cold that had Sokka hunching forward.

“I remember lying in the snow, and trying to get up. It was—the sun was already setting when the attack started, and I was just laying there for, spirits, I don’t even know how long, watching the moon rise and just—trying so damn hard to get up, and find my mom. I remember being cold. And I remember the look on my dad’s face when he found me. I don’t remember much after that, but when I woke up again, the soldiers were gone.”

“Your mom,” Zuko said. 

“She died,” Sokka said. “She told them she was the waterbender to protect Katara, and they killed her.”

Zuko’s fingers felt numb. No wonder Sokka and Katara had looked at him the way they had that first day, when they’d locked eyes across the canal.

“Sokka…” Zuko began, but Sokka just shook his head sharply. After a moment he drew a steadying breath. 

“I was in really bad shape. They didn’t tell me, but I knew I was dying. Gran Gran said that maybe a water healer could help me, but the South didn’t have those anymore, so my dad decided to take me and Katara to the Northern Water Tribe.”

Zuko’s stomach rolled. Katara had told Zuko that she’d mastered water healing when she was a kid, probably as soon as she’d reached the Northern Water Tribe, as soon as she’d had someone to teach her. Because she’d been _motivated_. Because her tribe didn’t have any water healers when they’d needed one—

“About half way through the voyage, I woke up in the middle of the night. I was so tired. And I just… I knew that I was going to die that night. So I snuck up on deck. I could barely make it up the ladder. And then once I was up there I just sat down, because… what was I even doing? I’m… not the most spiritual person, but I didn’t want to die. The look on my dad’s face… and Katara…” 

Sokka shook his head. 

“I didn’t want to die. I prayed to the spirits, and I guess they heard me, or took pity on me, because there was this glow, and… I woke up the next morning, and my wound was healing, and…” Sokka brushed his thumb over the hair twisting through the thickest braid on top of his head. “...a strand of my hair had turned white overnight. So I lived until morning, and the next morning, and by the time I reached the Northern Water tribe my wound was healing, and my hair was pure white. Tui did the rest, at the Spirit Oasis. And then Dad left us with Chief Arnook. It was supposed to be until the end of the war, but...”

He shrugged, like that was the end of the story. Zuko only frowned, but… he had already pried enough. He didn’t know anything about Sokka’s father, so it was safer not to ask. 

“The Spirit Oasis?” Zuko asked instead, grasping for safer ground. Yue had mentioned something about the Spirit Oasis before, when they were discussing the tribe’s spiritual practices. But she’d made it seem more like it was a… a metaphor, or something, described only abstractly and with extremely flowery prose in one of the old tomes she’d plucked from the archive. Sokka made it sound like a real place. 

“Ah,” Sokka said. He shrugged with a little too much lack of care. Zuko recognized the deflection, defensive, like he was worried Zuko would press him. “It’s a Water Tribe thing. I shouldn’t—” 

Zuko could tell he didn’t want to—or maybe wasn’t supposed to—talk about it. He nodded, and Sokka shrugged again, almost an apology.

“I’m sorry if I… I didn’t mean to pry,” Zuko said. 

“No, it’s fine,” Sokka said. “Everyone gets—weird, if I try to talk about it. Even Katara, sometimes. So it’s nice, to not just… pretend it didn’t happen, and...” 

Sokka tilted his head down toward his tea, untouched and rapidly cooling. Zuko reached out a tentative hand and pressed the pads of his fingers to the rim. Sokka shivered slightly as the cup warmed in his hand, steam wafting lazily from the top. 

“I’m not really sorry for how I acted when you first got here,” Sokka admitted. “I think… You can’t really blame me for that, even if, obviously, it wasn’t you specifically—but, uh. You’re really not what I expected. From the Fire Nation, after… everything. So, I don’t mind you knowing.”

“What did you expect?” Zuko asked. Sokka’s eyes were red-rimmed and shiny, and still the brightest blue that Zuko had ever seen. He smiled at him, just a little. It wasn’t quite a happy smile, but it was—better. 

“I don’t really know. Pretentious, at least? I didn’t expect you to actually care.” He took a long drink from his tea. “You’re really nothing like the—uh, like I expected.”

“I’m sure… talking about it helps,” Zuko agreed, though he wasn’t really sure if that was true. He didn’t know what else to say to that, though, and he didn’t mind listening. It seemed like the sort of advice his uncle might give, anyway, once he’d managed to dig beneath all the needlessly flowery metaphors. Zuko raised his left hand to his cheek absently, then immediately dropped it back to his lap when he realized what he was doing. “Yeah. It’s probably… nice. To do that.”

“Yeah,” Sokka said. He gave him a strange look, and paused to take another sip of his tea. “Uh. Did… did you want to?”

Zuko blinked at him. “Want to… what?”

“Talk about… stuff?” Sokka asked. 

Zuko didn’t—understand, at first, or maybe didn’t want to understand, but the longer Sokka stared at him, awkward, a little unsure, the more an uncomfortable pressure built in his chest, constricting. Talk about— 

Oh. 

He felt himself flush under Sokka’s attention, just like that first night, sitting near the roaring hearth in the banquet hall, when he’d been asked to share a story. Sokka had shared his and it was… he was so brave, and admirable. He’d only been nine years old, and he’d still stood up to the man who was attacking his home. He’d tried to protect the people he cared about. 

Hot shame rolled through his stomach, heated his skin, pricked at his fingertips, sick and all too familiar. Zuko’s story wasn’t brave. There was nothing honorable about his scar. Zuko hadn’t even stood up for what he’d believed in. He’d known his father was wrong, and he’d still bowed and pressed his forehead to the floor and begged forgiveness like a _coward_ —

“ _No_ ,” Zuko snapped. 

The fire shuddered, and Zuko quickly squashed that down before Sokka could notice. His voice came out too harsh, he’d hadn’t meant for it to, but he was feeling breathless and his chest was tightening dangerously.

Sokka looked—startled. A flicker of uncertainty flashed across his face and then passed away. He nodded, shrugged as though it wasn’t a big deal. Some of the openness ebbed out of his expression, though, and it hurt to watch it fade. 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko choked out. “I—no, I don’t want to talk about. Stuff.”

“Hey, I didn’t mean—I just thought…” Sokka trailed off and tried again, “I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“It’s fine,” Zuko said, a little desperately, because his outburst had been mortifying enough, but now Sokka was looking at him with concern, like _he_ was the one who’d done something wrong. He pressed his fingers against his eyes for a moment. 

The room was suddenly very warm, the fire crackling hungrily. Zuko stretched out a hand and forced it down, calming the flames as he exhaled. 

There was a very long pause. Discomfort crawled over his skin as Sokka finished his tea, and gently set aside the cup.

“We should probably get some sleep,” Sokka said. 

Zuko swallowed the impulse to apologize again. He was terrible at this, he _knew_ he was, but the evidence of that fact still grated on him. Zuko nodded, and pointedly didn’t meet Sokka’s eyes. He reached behind them both to pinch one of the furs between his fingers. The hairs were coarse and a little stiff, not at all like the soft lining of his coat, but he could tell just by touch that they would be warm.

“Which one’s mine?” Zuko asked. It was a little easier, to focus on getting ready to sleep, and nothing else. Sokka hesitated, a moment too long. 

“They’re both for both of us. We’re sharing,” Sokka said. “It’s cold, Zuko. It would be a waste to sleep separately.”

“Right. No, that makes… sense,” Zuko said. 

Sokka spread the furs out at the back of the room and laid down. It wasn’t quite as warm as it was directly next to the fire, but it was warmer up on the platform than it was on the ground. Zuko hesitated a moment before sliding underneath the furs. He rolled so that his back was facing Sokka’s, and edged to the far end of the fur to give him space. 

“Zuko,” Sokka said patiently. “The whole point of sharing furs is to keep warm. Get over here.”

Zuko shifted slightly closer. Sokka sighed and met him part way, further still until the two of them were almost touching. He rolled, and pressed his back against Zuko’s, then gathered the furs up closer around them. 

The quiet was excruciating. Zuko could feel every rise and fall of Sokka’s breath, he could _see_ every rise and fall of his own, the fire flickering along with his discomfort. He took a very slow breath and focused on keeping the fire from breathing with him, like he was a child too weak to control himself. 

He should say something, an explanation, or maybe just the truth, but every time he opened his mouth the words seemed to stick in his throat, choking him. By the time Zuko worked himself up to saying anything, even just another apology…

Sokka’s breathing had gone slow and deep, a warm weight against his back. How convenient. 

(He really was a coward).

Zuko was warm. His back was pressed to Sokka’s front. At some point in the night, they had shifted closer together. Sokka’s arms were crossed in front of his chest, and he was just close enough that they pressed lightly against Zuko’s shoulder blades, that little point of contact like a brand on his back. Sokka shifted behind him, and Zuko finally realized what had woken him. Sokka was getting up, sliding out the other side of the heavy furs draped over them.

“Sokka?” His voice was rough with sleep, too loud in the silence. Sokka froze, startled, and Zuko rolled over onto his back to look at him.

For a moment they stared at each other in the darkness, and an undefinable tension stretched like a spring, with the faint glow of the fire and the snatches of wind whistling beyond the entryway. 

Sokka put a hand on his shoulder, and that tight moment snapped. 

“I’ll be right back,” Sokka said. “It's snowing really hard. I’m just going to clear the vents off.” Zuko blinked at him. He could barely make out more than Sokka’s shadow, with how low the fire had burned in his sleep.

“D’ you need help?” Zuko asked. 

“I’ll be right back,” he repeated. 

Sokka’s boots crunched as he shuffled back down the passageway, and then the silence pressed in even further. 

Zuko breathed deep, and the fire crawled a bit higher, casting the room with a warm glow. He felt the heat reach him and shivered. For a moment he was tempted to reach out, brush over the furs where Sokka had been laying, still faintly warm. 

He didn’t do that. He rolled over and closed his eyes, and waited for several long minutes, counting his breaths with the gentle swell of the flames, until he heard the swish of Sokka’s boots on the steps. Zuko kept his eyes closed as Sokka paused at the entryway, hissing quietly under his breath and batting snow from his coat. 

Eventually Sokka slid back under the covers, turning his back to Zuko’s. 

He didn’t say anything, for so long that Zuko squeezed his eyes shut, trying to will himself to sleep. It was difficult with Sokka’s measured breaths behind him, too close. 

“Zuko,” Sokka said hesitantly, so quiet Zuko had to strain to hear him. He paused for so long, Zuko wasn’t certain whether he was going to continue. Finally, he rolled onto his back and sighed, a soft, breathy sound. “You were making—noise, in your sleep.”

He— _oh_. He swallowed. A prickling, uncomfortable cold crawled over his skin. As subtly as he could, Zuko tucked his suddenly-numb hands under his arms and curled a little tighter under the furs. He didn’t remember having a nightmare, only waking to the still darkness, but… he could guess what Sokka meant.

“Sorry. I’m fine. It’s probably just the cold,” Zuko lied. He tried to shift a bit further away, not that there was much room, and curled tighter around the edge of the furs. He turned his face into the soft lining of his hood. “I’m sorry if I woke you.”

The silence stretched for so long, Zuko wondered if maybe he’d fallen back asleep.

“Okay,” Sokka said. 

Sokka paused for just a moment, and then rolled onto his side. Silently he reached out and rested his hand gently on Zuko’s arm. Zuko blinked against the dim light, and watched the little fire swell. It dimmed again. He reached back, and nudged Sokka’s hand. Sokka took it as the permission it was, and wrapped his hand around Zuko’s waist, leaned forward and pressed his freezing cheek to the back of Zuko’s neck.

“Okay?” Sokka asked tentatively. Zuko sucked in a soft breath, and let it out slow.

“...Yeah,” he said. It was cold, he reminded himself. He shouldn’t—Zuko had always run warm. Sokka had said himself that it was too cold to sleep apart. So. 

Zuko could still feel him shivering slightly from his brief trip outside. He took another deep breath, letting his inner fire coil in his chest, and slowly let it out. Sokka made a soft sound, shivering as the heat washed over them, and shifted slightly closer.

Zuko closed his eyes again and counted his breaths against the guttering embers of the fire until they were both asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Fanart for this chapter by @wellthatsnothisname on tumblr!](https://wellthatsnothisname.tumblr.com/post/629270912213090304/uh-did-did-you-want-to-want-to)


	6. Chapter 6

The room was still dark and overwarm when Zuko first felt the sun beginning to edge up over the horizon, nudging him gently to wakefulness. He sighed, face pressed into the soft lining of his coat, and tried to roll over. Something stopped him, an unfamiliar weight on his torso, clinging and heavy and—

Zuko jerked awake. He lay there, terribly still, breath caught in his throat as his mind tried to make sense of where he was, why he couldn’t move. He blinked in the dim light, gaze racking over the smooth ice ceiling. Reality crashed over him a moment later. 

(Sokka, pulling back his coat to show a glimpse of a nasty scar. Zuko, saying the wrong thing like always. Waking up in the middle of the night, and then…)

Zuko forced himself to relax. He started with his fingers, clenched so tightly around the edge of the furs that his fingertips ached. Sokka’s arm was a warm weight over his side, too heavy to be anything but dead asleep. 

For one fleeting moment, Zuko entertained the idea of pulling up the furs and pretending he’d never woken with the dawn at all. 

But… that wouldn’t be fair. His desire to curl beneath Sokka’s arm and feign sleep had nothing to do with the cold and that… that was… No, he couldn’t. Sokka may still be sleeping, but he didn’t need Zuko to keep warm now that he was awake. Zuko could just stoke the fire, warm the room that way, and give him some space. 

As slowly, as carefully, as he could, Zuko inched out from under Sokka’s arm and then slipped out from between the furs entirely. Sokka was buried in blankets up to the bridge of his nose, all soft and warm in sleep. He allowed himself that one glance, just to be sure he hadn’t woken him, and then tucked the blankets around the spot he’d just vacated. The room wasn’t as cold as it could be, the fire hadn’t burned down that far, but Zuko shivered anyway. 

Sokka didn’t so much as stir when Zuko crawled out from beside him, so he must be a heavy sleeper, although... Not _that_ heavy, if Zuko had woken him up last night. He crushed down his anxiety at the reminder. He didn’t know what he’d done to wake him, whether he’d said something, or…

Zuko shook his head slightly and folded his legs under himself, trying to get comfortable. He usually used a much smaller flame to meditate, a candle in it’s holder, or sometimes just a little flame of his own cradled in his palms. He didn’t actually mind the bigger flame, though, and the extra focus it would require would probably be helpful right now. 

Zuko rested his arms loosely in front of him, fingers and thumbs just barely pressing together, like he would if he was actually holding a flame of his own. Meditation was always harder when there was someone in the room with him. Or at least, it used to be with his firebending instructors, pacing the room behind him, checking his posture and counting his breaths and probably wondering why he was having so much trouble focusing. It had been harder still, in the Fire Palace, because he was a restless child who couldn’t settle, and the urge to peek one eye open whenever someone came close, just to see who it was, just to _check_ , hadn’t been ground out of him yet. 

The slow, quiet breaths that came with sleep weren’t that different from the breathing exercises he’d been taught for firebending meditation, and that made it easier for Zuko to tune out the sound. He still felt just the wrong side of too warm, a restlessness prickling over his skin that wasn’t… bad, necessarily. He knew exactly what it was, the lingering sense of an arm over his side, a warm pressure against his back. He also knew exactly why it was a terrible idea to dwell on the feeling in any way other than to sit by the fire and let it settle out of him. 

He let his mind drift, let his focus narrow to the steady shrink and swell of the fire, and then to nothing at all—

“—uko?” 

Zuko took a deep breath and blinked once, slowly. Sokka poked him in the shoulder. The spot was a little tender, like that hadn’t been the first time Sokka had tried to get his attention. Zuko shot him an annoyed look, before he could poke him again. 

“Dude, you were so out of it,” Sokka said. “I called your name like three times. What were you doing, anyway?” 

“Meditating,” Zuko said. “It helps with control and,” helps calm stupid feelings, “calms the mind.”

“Huh,” Sokka said. “The fire was moving.” Zuko didn’t miss the way that he looked just the slightest bit uneasy at that. 

“Sorry,” Zuko said. Sokka shrugged, and then handed over a steaming cup. Zuko blinked at it, and, spirits, how badly had he needed to meditate, that he hadn’t noticed Sokka making tea _in_ the fire he’d been using to meditate?

With just at a glance at his cup Zuko could tell that the tea was _way_ too dark, Sokka had used too many leaves, and then probably burned it on top of that. Zuko just cooled it down to a drinkable temperature and took a sip anyway. 

Sokka grimaced at his own cup. “I don’t know how you drink this,” he said. 

“Well, it’s better if you make it properly,” Zuko said. 

“It was terrible last night, too,” Sokka said. 

“Like I said—” Zuko said, and Sokka snorted. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll take your word for it,” he said. Sokka made a face and took another long drink, like he was trying to finish it without tasting it, and then he scraped the last few leaves out of the bottom of the cup and into the fire. 

“How long have you been up?” Sokka asked.

Zuko glanced at one of the vents. When he’d sat down, the sun hadn’t completely risen. Now, the vents were a little hard to look at, with the bright white sunlight casting off the snow. 

“About an hour,” Zuko guessed. “Sorry. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“It’s fine,” Sokka said. He picked at a stray thread on his glove. “Uh, did… did you sleep okay last night?” 

Zuko couldn’t tell if he was asking because he’d woken Sokka up again in the night. He hoped not. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone back to sleep at all. At least then he would know he hadn’t done anything else to embarrass himself. 

“I slept fine,” he said. Sokka looked almost… not dissatisfied with his answer, but maybe like he was expecting Zuko to say something else. Zuko hesitated, turned back to poke at the fire. “Should we—they were expecting us back last night, so.” 

Sokka heaved a sigh, which summed up Zuko’s feelings on the matter, too. 

“Yeah, we should probably leave soon if we don’t want them sending someone out after us,” Sokka said, as he set about putting everything back the way they’d found it. “Put the fire out, will you?”

It was still flurrying outside. Sokka took a second to squint at the sky, but he looked satisfied with what he saw there, so Zuko just settled in beside him as they started the long trek back. 

“Do you think if we sneak back in, we can convince them we’ve been back since yesterday?” Sokka asked casually. They could already see Agna Qel'a in the distance. It had been growing steadily larger as they walked, but only barely. The walk seemed peaceful yesterday, but now it made him strangely uneasy to be able to see so far in every direction.

“Hm. Sure,” Zuko said. “First we just have to walk all that way on flat ground without anyone spotting us—” 

“And then get through the giant ice wall,” Sokka added helpfully. 

Zuko nodded. He _hadn’t_ forgotten the ice wall, or the fact that every gate in their city seemed designed to only be accessible to waterbenders. Agna Qel'a hadn’t needed to worry about visitors from any of the other nations for all of a century, though Zuko had to wonder if it bothered the nonbenders to be trapped on one side of the wall, even if there were waterbenders standing guard at all times to let them through.

Sokka elbowed him. “That’s easy, though. You can just melt it. Make us a little door.”

“I’m sure the chief would love that,” Zuko said, laughing a little despite his nerves. Sokka beamed at him, proud of his own joke. They lapsed into silence for a moment, but there wasn’t anything else to do besides talk.

“Seriously though, it’s going to be fine,” Sokka said. Zuko glanced over at him, and squinted only partly out of suspicion, wondering why Sokka kept bringing that up—he’d told him it was fine three times already, just this morning. It was a little hard to look at him directly. The blizzard last night had swept a blanket of pure white snow over every feature of the landscape, and he could hardly look anywhere without shielding his eyes from the glare.

There wasn’t a single stone, shrub, or patch of dirt left, and the sun was dazzlingly bright reflecting off the endless white around them. Thank Agni Sokka had lent him some boots, because trudging through this mess would have been torture in the pair he’d brought with him.

“...I know that,” Zuko said. He shielded his eyes, just to squint at Sokka better. “You’ve said that already.”

“Right, you just seem… tense,” Sokka said. He wasn’t tense.

“I’m not tense,” Zuko lied. Sokka held his hands up in front of him, looking like he believed it about as much as Zuko did. 

They were spotted _long_ before they reached the wall.

Zuko had known there was no chance of them making the entire walk unnoticed. Being spotted meant that their half-baked plan to sneak into the city was out, which... That was probably for the best, because the thought had started to seem a little _too_ appealing. Zuko knew perfectly well that trying to avoid punishment only led to worse punishment later. 

They could see the wall opening before anyone else came into view, melting away into another perfectly round doorway. Eventually they got close enough to the city to actually make out the people standing at the wall, dressed for the cold. They’d clearly spotted them, their search finished before it could begin. 

Sokka sighed, like he’d been rethinking their plan to sneak inside, too. The search party had started toward them, and he paused to watch their approach with a sort of reluctant resignation before carrying on walking. Zuko privately agreed and trudged after him.

He spotted Katara at the front of the group, fast approaching. She threw herself at Sokka, with so much force that she almost knocked him over. He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her completely, so that the only thing grounding her was her arms around his shoulders and her face pressed into his neck. 

“What, you think I can’t take care of myself?” Sokka teased. He set Katara down next to him. She punched him on the arm as soon as she had her feet under her.

“I know you can’t, stupid,” she said, but the relief in her voice ruined the insult. “I just can’t believe you dragged Zuko down with you.”

Zuko stood awkwardly to the side and put on his very best Neutral Court Expression as they were joined at a much more sedate pace by Chief Arnook, with the rest of the search party trailing behind. Zuko snuck a glance at the man’s expression, trying to gauge just how unhappy he was at being so blatantly disobeyed.

“Well, no one predicted a storm!” Sokka protested. Katara scoffed. Zuko watched them for a moment, feeling awkward and unnaturally stiff. He tucked his hands inside his sleeves and worried the seam of his coat between his fingers.

“Prince Sokka,” Chief Arnook said. Sokka cringed at the use of his title, and the tone of voice. Zuko snuck another look at the chief, thankful he wasn’t looking his way, but feeling a little guilty about it. 

He didn’t look as angry as Zuko had expected. Arms crossed, he mostly looked stern and… disappointed. 

“You wouldn’t have run into the storm, if you had come back on time,” he said. “We agreed that you would both be back by the evening meal.”

“We lost track of time?” Sokka said, sounding hopeful. “And we weren’t catching anything, so—” Katara snorted, and Sokka sent her a warning look, blink and you miss it, “ _So_ we walked further out! To find a good spot!”

The chief looked unmoved. Zuko wished he knew the man better—would it be better to offer an apology, or would the interruption be disrespectful? His father had never wanted apologies, apologies were nothing more than excuses for not having done better in the first place. 

Sokka sucked in a breath, preparing to barrel on. The Chief held up a hand to stop him before he could get into it. 

“You boys are lucky,” Chief Arnook said, the disapproval in his tone laced through with his relief. “We were worried. It got quite cold last night.”

“Yeah, well, Zuko had that part handled,” Sokka said. 

Chief Arnook clearly didn’t understand. He turned back to Zuko with a question in his expression, and any hope that he’d known that Zuko was a firebender left him with that look. He awkwardly tugged his glove off, and cupped his hand close to his chest. He lit a small flame in the cradle of his palm, and stared at it a moment before glancing up. 

Katara turned a wide-eyed stare on Sokka. Chief Arnook looked just as surprised, though he mastered his expression better. 

Zuko held very still, trying to mask his unease under the weight of their stares. Chief Arnook noticed, anyway. 

“I see,” Chief Arnook said. “Your father… implied that you were a nonbender.”

Zuko’s stomach swooped. His father had—?

 _Why_ would he do that? Zuko scraped desperately for some reason. Was his firebending supposed to be a secret, or…? But no, he hadn’t _told_ Zuko to keep his bending to himself, so there was no way he could expect Zuko to know. 

Unless… maybe he’d assumed it didn’t need to be said. Sokka had reacted poorly. Was that Zuko’s fault? Maybe he should have known that would happen, and he was just too stupid to realize he should have kept his firebending to himself for diplomacy’s sake. 

Shit, that must have been it… And it was too late now, wasn’t it?

“I…” Zuko began, and then trailed off. “I’m not a very good one,” he finished lamely. 

Chief Arnook looked skeptical. He glanced at Sokka, then, and seemed to meet his gaze, but by the time Zuko had glanced over to try to catch a glimpse of his expression, Sokka had turned his attention back to Katara. 

Chief Arnook hummed, thoughtful. 

“I think, given that you’re both in one piece, there’s no need to write to your father, if that’s all right with you, Prince Zuko,” he said. “Of course, the Northern Water Tribe takes full responsibility for the _risk_ ,” This he said with a very pointed look toward Sokka, “but, considering no harm was done, it may be… smoother, to simply make an effort to ensure it doesn’t happen again.”

“Yes,” Zuko said, a bit too loud, and _far_ too quickly to be interpreted as anything other than inappropriately desperate. “That’s—fine. I wouldn’t… concern my father with this.”

Chief Arnook eyed him for a moment, and Zuko did his best not to fidget under the scrutiny. Eventually he nodded, slow and deliberate. 

“Well, all right then. I’m relieved you boys are all right,” the chief said. 

“I’m sorry for the trouble,” Zuko said, bowing lower than would have been strictly proper for a prince, in the Fire Nation, but in a way that felt appropriate given the circumstances. When he raised his head again, Chief Arnook seemed more perplexed than anything, and that did nothing to calm Zuko’s nerves. 

Sokka had said he’d take care of it. Likely they’d be having their own conversation, maybe in private where Zuko couldn’t overhear—

“And Prince Sokka?” Chief Arnook said, in a tone of voice that made Zuko’s stomach flip. Sokka glanced up, already looking a bit sheepish. “In the future, if you find yourself with the urge to… go ice fishing. I would prefer that you didn’t stray so far from the palace.”

“Right,” Sokka said. Katara pinched him on the arm, subtly. “No, I mean—yes, of course. We’ll… ice fish closer to home, next time.”

Zuko held his breath expecting something more, but— 

“Well, let’s head inside. I’m sure you boys are hungry,” Chief Arnook said. Zuko waited until the chief had gotten a little ahead of them before he reached out and caught Sokka’s sleeve. Sokka had been practically bouncing as he followed after the chief, but he hung back a step to wait for him. Zuko still felt a bit queasy, from his nerves on the way over, and now…

“Was that… it?” Zuko asked quietly, because if—there was more, he wanted to be ready for it. 

“Was what it?” Sokka whispered back. 

“The—chief,” Zuko tried to clarify. He could feel the tension rising in his shoulders in anticipation of Sokka’s answer. It took a moment. Zuko could see Sokka’s confusion, and he felt himself flush as understanding flashed across his face, followed quickly by amusement. He wasn’t laughing at him, it was really nothing like the jeering he’d grown used to from Azula, but Zuko pulled his hand back in embarrassment anyway. 

Katara had paused now too, seeing that the two of them weren’t following. Sokka waved her on quickly, with such a casual smile that it made Zuko a bit self-conscious. He was certain his anxiety must be written all over his face, but—she didn’t even seem to notice, carrying on at Sokka’s insistence. 

Sokka leaned in slightly, with that same casual smile. 

“I meant it when I said I’d take care of it,” he said. Up ahead of them the chief glanced back, gaze flicking over to Katara, and then back toward them, as though counting heads. “Besides, if he’s going to be mad at anyone, it’ll be at me for putting you in danger.” Zuko’s stomach sank and Sokka barreled on, “And all I’m going to get is a lecture. I promise.”

Sokka was still smiling at him, but the edges of it had gone a little softer. Zuko felt suddenly self-conscious, suddenly paranoid that Sokka could tell exactly what he’d been thinking. He was hyper aware of himself and the forced calm on his face. Maybe he’d been too obvious. But Sokka… seemed unbothered, like Zuko hadn’t snapped at him the night before, like he hadn’t woken him in the middle of the night, like he hadn’t only just embarrassed himself again now. 

Sokka turned his wrist to break Zuko’s hold on his sleeve. Faster than Zuko could draw back he reached out to put an arm over his shoulders, and then nudged Zuko on, to follow in the shallow footprints the other men had left in the snow.

Zuko had been very distracted lately, between his occasional study-sessions with Yue, and learning from the first of the craftsmen that Yue had finally found to tutor him, a woman who spent her days spinning walrus-yak fur into yarn, and weaving beautiful blankets and shawls. The yarn was coarser than the koala sheep wool popular in the Fire Nation, and also much thicker. He’d never done anything like it, and he found himself picking stubborn knots out of his work more than anything, but… it was nice, and meditative. 

Sokka had found that a bit amusing, though Zuko couldn’t imagine why. He’d tried to explain that this sort of weaving was traditionally womens’ work, but then he’d turned right around to insist that no, weaving fishing nets was an entirely _different_ sort of weaving, and for some reason that _wasn’t_ womens’ work. Katara had been very interested to hear the rest of that argument, but Sokka had gotten suddenly shifty instead, and never explained. 

Yue had warned Zuko that these lessons would be more hands-on, but he hadn’t expected to be treated so much like an apprentice. Zuko dutifully jotted notes anyway, and by the time he was done he was pretty sure her patterns had burned themselves into the back of his eyelids—and that had just been what he was working on, never mind the terrifyingly complicated spread she’d had draped over her workspace, the pattern for which she’d seemingly committed to memory.

He was still counting threads on his way back to his room, drafting his description of the technique in his head lest he forget it before he could put it to paper. Just a quick stop by the aviary to drop off another letter to his father—unprompted and unanswered, as always—and then he’d retreat to his room to sort through his notes. 

He drummed his fingers against the desk as he waited for the attendant to fetch his mail. She was back in a moment, but not just with a letter. Instead she produced a small package, with a _very_ thick letter lashed to the top with too much red silk cord.

Tekka smiled at him as she handed it over, looking more excited than he was. Her wet hands left little prints in the brown paper. 

“From your uncle?” she asked, as though she hadn’t personally handled every one of his letters, and didn’t know perfectly well that he only ever got mail from one person. Zuko glanced at the handwriting on the package, anyway. 

“Yes,” he said, wondering if it was normal to feel this sort of dread at receiving a present. It wasn’t even his birthday, so… there was really only one explanation for what prompted it. Zuko knew he should have re-written that letter. He slid his letter to his father over with one hand and let her take it from him. 

Zuko picked at the corner of the package on the walk back to his room. His curiosity over what could possibly be inside outweighed any embarrassment at the imagined contents of his Uncle’s abnormally thick letter, although that was mostly due to the fact that his imagination had exhausted the possibilities days ago.

He had no reason to save it, but Zuko set the wrapping paper, neatly straightened, on the corner of his desk anyway. The package his uncle had sent him contained a simple wooden box with a lotus design in the lid. He’d sent him similar boxes over the past five years, the smell of herbs or spice or flowers long seeped into the wood. Uncle Iroh was the crown prince, he didn’t _need_ to repurpose tea boxes for presents, but he did anyway. 

Zuko set the box aside for a moment, so that he could crumble the frozen wax seal with his finger and pull his uncle’s letter free. 

He shifted through the stack of pages and paused midway through. The handwriting of the pages at the bottom of the stack was unfamiliar. He flipped quickly to the signature, saw the name, and broke into a surprised grin. 

He hadn’t actually received a letter from Lu Ten before—usually Uncle just tacked on whatever message he wanted to share at the bottom of his letters. His uncle had never said as much outright, but Zuko got the impression that writing was hard for him after his injury. 

Zuko set Lu Ten’s letter aside on the desk for later. It made his uncle’s letter a slightly more reasonable length, but not by much. 

Uncle had written... quite a lot, and most of it dense with metaphor and meandering in a way that made Zuko want to bang his head against the desk. The opening of the letter was just his usual update, a very brief mention of Lu Ten—probably written before Lu Ten decided to write a letter of his own—and an extra aside to note how pleased he was to hear that Zuko was settling in well in the palace.

Inside the package, he found several tins of tea, wrapped up in oilcloth to keep them dry in transit. He popped open the lid of one and was hit by the overpowering smell of ginger and spice. Zuko scrunched his nose and put the lid back on. The tea came with detailed instructions that Uncle must have known Zuko wouldn’t follow. 

He smiled at the package, anyway, because Zuko had barely mentioned being sick, had even written that he was already recovering, and Uncle had sent him three kinds of tea and half a page of doting concern, anyway. He scanned down and then paused to glance back into the package. Beneath the tea and tucked inside another waterproof container was a brown paper bag.

Uncle had packed… snacks. Fire flakes, along with instructions to share them with his _new friends_ —he’d used those words specifically, which felt over-familiar and definitely embarrassing to read so pointedly stated, but…

But he supposed he’d never written about anyone else but himself in his letters to his uncle, so, maybe that wasn’t so unexpected that he’d latched onto it, overeager though it might be. That thought alone was more embarrassing than the half-page of the letter dedicated to Uncle’s clear excitement that he wasn’t sitting alone in his rooms all day, which… he probably would have been doing, if it’d been left entirely up to him. 

And then… Uncle asked after Sokka. Asked after Sokka, specifically, and with great interest, even though Zuko had only very briefly mentioned him in his last letter. He felt his face heat.

Zuko must not have been as subtle as he’d hoped with that little throwaway line about his new coat. Or maybe he was too suspicious with so brief a mention, and the lack of detail was what drew his uncle’s attention. Either that, or his uncle had somehow found out another way—but no, how could he? It wasn’t as though he could possibly know anyone inside Agna Qel'a’s walls beside Zuko himself. 

He set down his uncle’s letter and scrubbed a hand over his face, torn between embarrassment and an irrational fondness. He was—pretty sure that embarrassment was winning out, but his uncle seemed so excited…

And Zuko had gone and gotten his hopes up. That thought washed over him uncomfortably. Sokka was kind, yes, and charming, and _definitely_ over-friendly, but that didn’t mean—Zuko was just—getting ahead of himself. Now he’d probably have to let Uncle down, when he explained that there was nothing there for him to get excited over. 

He pushed his uncle’s letter aside and picked up Lu Ten’s letter instead. The handwriting was very neat, but many of the characters were dotted with little hesitation marks, like he’d paused too long with a wet brush before he’d managed to finish the stroke. The color of the ink changed part way through the letter, too, just slightly, like he’d put it down and come back to it.

The first line read: _My father’s marriage was arranged. He doesn’t even know what he’s talking about_ , with no salutation, pleasantries, or even context. It set the tone for the rest of the letter.

Zuko made it through about three more lines before he had to put the letter down and bury his face in his hands. No, he’d been— _something_ , in his last letter, but maybe not as obvious as he’d worried.

Lu Ten definitely had the wrong idea. About him… and… his interests… and, _oh spirits_. This was even worse than his uncle’s letter.

Zuko took another peek at the letter, and the several solid pages of very neatly written advice on how best to woo Princess Yue. Zuko could almost picture it, Lu Ten hanging over Uncle’s shoulder, reading the letter Zuko _absolutely_ should have rewritten and getting _ideas_ —

It was—mortifying. He wasn’t sure whether he should be embarrassed at how enthusiastically his cousin had taken to writing about Yue, or grateful that his uncle hadn’t set Lu Ten straight with his own theories about Sokka. Zuko groaned and buried his face in his hands for a moment. Then he lifted the letter off the desk with the full intention to burn it, but… he paused, because…

Well. He’d never received a letter from Lu Ten before. And. It seemed like a shame, to burn it, when... 

Zuko frowned, and folded it up again, instead. He settled the letter next to his uncle’s, suddenly torn on which was worse, or maybe better. He’d clearly given them—ideas, and he should set them straight, but. 

But. That would mean putting it to words, and...

Zuko was saved from contemplating it further by a knock at the door. He glanced at the window quickly, and noted that the sun was nearly set. That was probably Yue. Zuko had promised to meet her outside once he’d gathered his mail, but he’d been too curious about the contents of the package and the overlong letter to wait. There was another short knock, ever polite. 

“Coming,” he called. He slid the letters into his drawer to deal with them later. He paused briefly to scoop the paper package off the desk before he rose to join her.

When Zuko was ten years old, before his grandfather had fallen ill, before his mother—

When Zuko was ten years old, his father had encouraged Azula to demonstrate her newest firebending forms for the Fire Lord. She’d performed them flawlessly, of course. Even at that age, Zuko had known his chances of catching up to her were slim. He’d never really learned not to try, though, so of course he’d insisted on demonstrating what he was learning. He’d made a fool of himself. 

This was, roughly, as nerve wracking as that. 

Sokka, Yue, and Katara all stared up at him expectantly.

“I’m not sure this is a good idea,” Zuko said. 

A firebending demonstration was not what Zuko had in mind, when Yue had invited him to walk with her to the courtyard where he and Katara practiced. 

Zuko hadn’t been certain whether Katara would even be interested in continuing now that she knew he was a firebender. He had been avoiding the problem of asking, and the inevitable let down, by keeping himself too busy to practice. 

And he’d thought that he and Yue had reached an unspoken understanding there, because she’d introduced him to several of the city’s artisans as soon as they’d returned, with their lessons stretching well into the evenings. He’d thought maybe that was a hint to leave Katara alone. 

But apparently not, if the matching eager grins on Katara’s and Sokka’s faces were any indication. 

It wasn’t that Zuko didn’t… want to firebend, necessarily, only… he wasn’t sure why _they_ wanted him to. They seemed eager now, but… he just didn’t want them to—regret asking. Zuko eyed the courtyard, searching for an excuse. 

“I mean, everything is made of ice,” Zuko said. 

“Katara’s on standby,” Sokka said. “Melt whatever you want.”

“Maybe not _whatever_ you want,” Katara said. 

“It’s getting dark,” Zuko said. “Won’t someone see the light?”

“No one’s caught me out here before,” Katara said. “I don’t see why they’d come looking now.”

“Well—” Zuko began, but Yue interrupted him before his next excuse could form. 

“Zuko, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she said with a gentle smile. 

“No,” Zuko said quickly. “I mean—I don’t mind, I just…” 

He’d seen the way they’d looked at him, when he first arrived in Agna Qel'a. And he’d seen the fear in Sokka’s eyes when he’d blindsided him with his firebending. It wasn’t a look he wanted to see again.

“If you’re sure,” Zuko finished lamely. Yue smiled at him again, encouragingly, and for a moment he was certain she knew exactly what he’d been thinking. Standing in the middle of the courtyard, he felt exposed. He fought the urge to fidget as the moment stretched long. 

“Well, come on then. Let’s see some jerkbending,” Sokka said. 

“Right,” he said. For a moment Zuko wasn’t even certain where to start. He couldn’t show them a beginner form, even if it would be easy, something he could actually manage to do perfectly despite his nerves prickling and the anxious fluttering in his chest.

Maybe an intermediate form. Something he’d had plenty of practice with. Katara was teaching herself advanced forms all on her own, so surely Zuko could manage one intermediate form for an audience. 

He glanced at them once more where they’d settled on the half-moon bench. Sokka had his chin propped on his hand. Katara leaned back with her arms crossed, but her gaze was especially keen as he settled into a steady stance. Yue smiled at him, encouraging, and Zuko blew out a breath. 

He shifted through the first stance, letting his muscle memory carry him. His coat was too constricting, and he briefly regretted not taking it off to free up his range of motion. 

Firebending was power, swift movements and forceful strikes. It must look—brutish to Katara, whose movements were always so easy and flowing, drifting like the ocean currents. Zuko thrust forward, unleashing a gout of flame that flashed so hot the frigid night air warped around his fist. The snap of cold air that followed as the heat escaped was grounding, and Zuko could almost focus on that and not the strange nervous energy prickling his limbs, except—

His foot caught on the slush, melted from the heat of his punch, and he almost slipped before righting himself. It put him off center, so that his next strike didn’t have the strength of a solid root backing it, the fire thin and weak instead of the precise spear it should have formed. Zuko bit back his own frustration, finishing the set with too much fire and not enough control, so that the last ring of flame washed over the courtyard in a flash, melting a slick layer of water over the ice at his feet. He almost slipped again, shifting back to a neutral stance, already replaying the attempt in his mind.

That was—bad. His footwork was still terrible in the loose snow, worse now that he’d melted it to a slick slush. His breathing was too short, unsteady with his nervousness at being watched, and it showed in the power of his fire. Azula would never—she could have managed that in her sleep, and Zuko couldn’t even—

“Let me… I can...” _I can do better_ , he wanted to say, but that felt like an excuse. He turned to face them, planning to... What? Apologize?

The words dried up at the look on their faces. 

“That was—sorry,” Zuko said. 

“You should be!” Katara shouted. Zuko winced, but she didn’t seem to notice, barreling on as she leapt up from her seat. “Zuko, I can’t believe you’ve been holding out on me this whole time!”

Holding…? He glanced back at the slush on the ground. He supposed—she didn’t know what it was supposed to look like, or that he’d messed it up. So. Zuko crossed his arms in front of himself. 

“I wasn’t holding out on you. Well, not on purpose,” he said. 

“Can you show us another?” Katara asked. She swept her arm out and brushed the slush off the platform with the flick of her wrist, then pulled back and re-froze the surface solid in one smooth motion. She smiled hopefully.

“Uh. Yeah,” Zuko said. He could, maybe, try something a little harder, since she seemed so eager, and… they didn’t seem to mind if he made mistakes. Which he wouldn’t. But if he did, they’d probably… Zuko cleared his throat. “Maybe… move back a bit.”

They all shuffled to stand from the bench. Sokka stooped to pick up Zuko’s swords, still in their case, which he’d grabbed before he realized he wouldn't need them today. Yue paused. 

“What’s this?” Yue asked. He had set the packet of fire flakes down on the bench next to where he’d propped his swords. 

“Oh, my uncle sent me those. They’re a snack food,” he said. He felt a little silly now for bringing them, considering he hadn’t even asked if they were interested. “Popular in the Fire Nation. He sent enough to share, if you… want.”

Yue sniffed the bag skeptically, and then held it out for the others. Sokka hadn’t seemed too keen on the idea when he’d mentioned Fire Nation food the other day, but he looked interested now as he grabbed a handful.

Sokka chewed, expression thoughtful, and hummed appreciatively. Katara was watching him like a hawk to see how he would react. He flashed her a thumbs up, and only then did she take a handful of her own. 

The moment she put her handful in her mouth, Sokka spat his out on the ground. 

“Nope,” he gasped. “Nope it’s way—way too—”

“Sokka, you’re such a...” Katara wheezed. “Why didn’t you _warn me_.”

Sokka cackled, or tried to, a bit too busy coughing to really manage it. Katara smacked him, her eyes streaming. 

“Oh. They’re spicy,” Zuko added. “Sorry.”

Katara glared at them both balefully, leaning dramatically on Yue’s arm. Sokka coughed some more. 

“Who needs fire breath?” Sokka choked out, “Those things will warm you up.”

“Breath of fire,” Zuko corrected him. “Fire breath is just—breathing fire. That’s not the same.” 

“Wait.” Sokka gasped, though the drama of it was a little lost, with how red his face was from the spice. “Can you actually breathe fire?”

“I—sort of,” he said. He hadn’t tried recently, but he’d seen his uncle do it plenty of times when he was younger. The last time Zuko had practiced, his attempt hadn’t looked anything like Uncle’s, much too weak with barely a tongue of flame. Zuko thought his breath control had improved a lot since then, though.

“Okay, forget the firebending forms, do that instead,” Sokka said.

“No, I want to see the forms!” Katara said, smacking Sokka on the arm again. Sokka looked ready to complain, so she planted a hand on his cheek and pushed him away with a roll of her eyes. She grinned at Zuko. “And then… if you show me more firebending, maybe I can teach you some waterbending forms! If you want.”

“Oh,” Zuko said. “I… Yes, I’d like that.”

He hadn’t even thought of that, but now that she mentioned it, the thought was… kind of exciting. He’d been neglecting his firebending training so much lately that he’d begun to worry it would be noticeable, when he finally returned to the Fire Nation. But… maybe this was the sort of thing he needed to improve his bending.

Zuko doubted that Azula knew any waterbending forms. He was certain even his father didn’t—not that he would ever deign to learn.

Katara was grinning at him fully now, practically vibrating with the force of her eagerness. Sokka looked mock-annoyed with his sister, but when he glanced up at Zuko his eyes gave him away. Zuko felt a little sympathetic thrill in his chest, at the eagerness on Katara’s face, and the fondness on Sokka’s.

And then in one mortifying instant he felt himself flush, and he thought… ah. This was...

Maybe he should have been embarrassed, that it had taken him this long to notice that somewhere in the past few weeks he’d… made friends. At the very least, he ought to be embarrassed that this was a novel enough concept that he wasn’t quite… sure what to do with the realization, but... his uncle and Lu Ten had both encouraged him. To make friends. So.

Zuko turned quickly and marched back to the center of the platform, partly to hide his expression long enough to get control of his face.

His father would… maybe not approve, necessarily, but… Yue was the tribal princess of the Northern Water Tribe, and Katara and Sokka were the children of the Southern Water Tribe’s chief. Surely his father would at least understand the... advantage of befriending them. He might—he might be fine with it. 

Zuko glanced back at them, and considered that. And then he thought—well. 

His father might not need to know. 

Zuko had been taught that the Water Tribes had very different standards for formality, comparably much more social than what he’d grown up with in the Fire Palace. At first Zuko had been worried he would offend someone by being too presumptuous, but Sokka pointed out that being _too_ formal was making him look like, in Sokka’s words, A Royal Snob. So, he’d been making an effort.

Still, Zuko was starting to _highly_ doubt whether Sokka's idea of familiarity was normal. 

Zuko emerged from the bath and froze, hands raised to finger-comb his hair into something more manageable to style. 

Sokka was lounging on his bed, boots discarded on the floor next to him, feet propped up on an extra pillow he’d fetched from somewhere. It was such a bizarre image that Zuko couldn’t help but stop and stare, which was fine, because Sokka didn’t even notice him, too preoccupied with reading the book Zuko had left propped on the nightstand.

Zuko had finished late today. Yue had set him up with a tanner, who was determined to show him how to prepare hide _the correct way_ —she’d insisted on saying it like that, _the correct way_ , as though Zuko had ever learned any other way to prepare a hide, incorrect or otherwise. 

The _correct_ way, apparently, meant starting from step one—with the actual arctic seal, presented to him with a flourish and a bit of a grin on her face. He could see in her expression that she’d expected him to balk, but her amusement… wasn’t at his expense, necessarily. Zuko thought that maybe, a few weeks ago, it might have felt that way. 

She’d been anything but disappointed when he’d taken to it with the grim determination of someone who was absolutely not going to admit how disgusting he found it. 

It had been worth it, for the look of pleasant surprise on her face—he was still proud of that—but maybe less worth coming out of the lesson smelling vaguely… meaty, and seal-ish. 

A bath had seemed like a good idea. 

Zuko was—not dressed, for company.

“Uh,” Zuko said, eloquently. He edged toward his dresser, to grab the first outer robe he could reach, hastily yanking it on.

Sokka glanced up at him, hardly seeming to notice that he was just—half-dressed, and _wet_. “Does the Dragon Emperor stay mortal? Wait—don’t tell me. Can I borrow this?” he asked, shaking the book a little. Zuko nodded. “Cool. Hey, are you almost done?”

“Done?” Zuko asked, tying his sash.

Sokka waved vaguely in his direction. “You know. Done. With stuff. Free for the night.”

“I… need to finish this letter. And fix my hair,” he said, suddenly self-conscious. He twisted his hair quickly into a topknot. It was going to dry weird like this, but he didn’t really care. 

Sokka just nodded, and turned back to the book. 

Zuko stared at him. “No, sure, make yourself at home.”

He’d been doing that a lot, lately—barging in, making himself comfortable, being over-friendly. _It’s just who he is_ , Zuko had to remind himself.

Sokka just flashed him a thumbs up. Zuko huffed a laugh and shook his head. His letter to his uncle was sitting half-finished on his desk. They drifted into a comfortable silence, the only sounds in the room being the swish of Zuko’s brush, and the occasional rustle of Sokka turning the page. Sokka paused to watch, when Zuko set his brush aside to seal the letter.

“Done?” Sokka repeated. 

“I have to send it,” Zuko said. 

“Well, hurry up,” Sokka said. He hopped up from the bed, then set the book down on the corner of Zuko’s desk.

He trailed along after Zuko as he made his way toward the aviary. Sokka made him take the long way past the waterbender’s practice grounds, so that he could wave furiously at Yue from across the courtyard until she noticed them and hurried over.

“We’re going to get Katara to push us around the canals,” Sokka said. Zuko cast him an amused smile after seeing the eagerness in his expression. 

“And how does Katara feel about this plan?” Zuko asked. 

“Oh, we haven’t run it by her yet,” he admitted. “But she’ll go for it. We’re gonna tell her that your arms are just too tired from all that weaving—”

“My arms are fine,” Zuko interrupted. “Weaving was last week, anyway.”

“—all that weaving,” Sokka insisted. “Just too tired to row. And then when she heartlessly refuses, Yue’s going to bat her eyelashes at her.”

Tekka handed him a letter. There was just one, so Lu Ten must not have sent one this time. Zuko glanced at it. Blinked.

“For the record, I don’t mind rowing,” Yue said.

“Okay, but just…” Sokka began, but Zuko was only half listening anymore, as he stared at the letter in his hand. His fingertips were strangely numb. He turned the envelope over to examine the seal, and for a moment he could only stare at it. It was like he was half-outside himself, heart caught in his throat, because—

Because that was undeniably his father’s seal, with the same chalky whiteness to the wax as all the other letters that came from the Fire Palace, carefully folded and pristine and addressed to him in _his father’s own hand_.

“Dude,” Sokka nudged him. Zuko tore his eyes away from the letter, in time to catch the tail-end of Sokka’s exasperated eye roll. “You’re not even listening to me!”

“I’m… sorry,” Zuko said, a moment too slow. Sokka frowned at him, offended he wasn’t listening, maybe, upset he still wasn’t— “I have to go.” He was distantly aware of how breathless he sounded. “I’ll meet you there? Or, don’t wait for me, I’ll come find you later. I’m sorry.” 

He tried to ignore the completely baffled look that Sokka was giving him. Zuko pushed past Sokka and out into the hall, feeling unsteady.

“Is everything all right?” Yue asked. She was frowning, too. 

“It’s fine, really, I just need to...” Zuko said. His hands shook as he waved the letter between them. It wasn’t much of an explanation, but they both knew how often he wrote his father. 

(How could he explain that he’d never once expected a reply?)

His breath felt heavy and wrong in his chest. He had to glance down, to be certain he hadn’t accidentally dropped the letter in his haste, because his fingers were—numb, completely, like they belonged to someone else. 

“Zuko?” Sokka called after him, but he ignored him, pace quickening.

He hardly registered the walk back to his room, a blur of familiar steps. He managed to wait until he was pressing the door shut behind him before he stole another glance at the letter. He’d crushed the corner of it during his walk, cracked the too-cold wax seal straight down the center. Zuko rubbed at the creases with his thumb and forefinger.

His father had never written back to him once in the last five years, but here was a letter from him now, marked with his seal. It was his handwriting—actually _his_ , not the tight and immaculate script of the court scribe who’d sent him his summons, or that filled the official correspondences that contained his orders and stipend. His father’s careful penmanship. 

He’d actually read his letters. 

He’d—why?

Zuko stared at it, almost afraid to pick apart the wax seal. Was this…

Maybe his father had been satisfied with Zuko’s progress, and the updates he’d sent him. Maybe he wanted him to come home—

Or maybe. Not. 

Zuko drew a sharp breath and peeled the seal back with his thumb, still standing in front of the doorway, bursting with a nervous energy. 

He scanned the letter once. Twice. Breathed. He set it down on the desk, and then sat heavily. 

The letter was only a few short lines, containing a terse salutation and conclusion. 

There was nothing about Zuko, or his travels—nothing about his shortcomings, either, and for that he blew out a shaky breath, and pressed a hand to his chest as though to steady himself.

Zuko’s eyes caught on the line, _Your progress has been satisfactory, except—_

Zuko stared at the word, _satisfactory_ , not quite believing his eyes. Was that… a compliment? He held his breath as he read the line over again, his mind reeling, torn between being thrilled or confused. His heart had no such reservations. An anxious pressure had settled beneath his ribs. He cleared his throat, trying to clear the pressure, and then took a deep breath, and then—and then accepted that the feeling wasn’t going to go away. He read the line again.

 _Except_ , his father had written—and then three short lines:

A request for more information on the Water Tribe’s spiritual customs. A request for more information on the Water Tribe’s spiritual leaders. 

A request for more information on the Spirit Oasis.

His father thought he’d done—not even well, adequately, in his work so far. If he’d known his father would be reading his letters, he might have—but no, that wasn’t an excuse for anything less than his best. His father would never accept his excuses, anyway. 

He could hardly remember what he’d written, or where the information had been lacking, but he’d made copies, because… because he hadn’t expected father to _read them_ , and he’d wanted it on hand just in case.

Zuko opened the top drawer of his desk, and removed the stack. He leafed through them, not quite reading the pages.

Zuko’s father was not a particularly spiritual man. So why the Spirit Oasis, then? Zuko’s mention of it in his own report had been purely academic. The books that he’d studied with Yue were old enough to be very difficult to parse, with obfuscating prose that could just as easily be a true account or purely metaphorical. The description of it had seemed too fantastical to be real, at least not in the physical world.

(But Sokka had mentioned that Tui…)

But Sokka had made it _clear_ that knowledge of the Spirit Oasis, and whatever it contained, was for members of the Water Tribe. The Fire Nation didn’t share the wisdom of the Fire Sages with just anyone, either. The Spirit Oasis must be similar.

He stared at a blank sheet of paper for an unbearably long time before he convinced his fingers to fold around a brush. He couldn’t just ignore the request. He also couldn’t… his father may want to know more about the Spirit Oasis, but. He couldn’t. He didn’t _know_. 

Zuko wrote as much, and then paused. Struck it out. Paused again, and rewrote the same sentence. His father had asked for the information. Could he just tell him… no? A pang of anxiety struck him. If Zuko told him that he didn’t have the information, would he think that he was remiss in his duties? Certainly he couldn’t expect the Northern Water Tribe to share everything with him. 

The stack of heavily curated Fire Nation historical and cultural information stored in Zuko’s room showed that the Fire Nation very well didn’t intend to share everything with the Northern Water Tribe, either. 

In the end, he re-worded the information he had already given, and added an apology... 

On a clean sheet of paper, he rewrote his message, no apology. He added a promise to… look into the Spirit Oasis further. To… ask to see it, if possible, since his impression of the Spirit Oasis had since shifted from _metaphor_ to _actual place you could visit_ since his last message. 

He folded the letter, deliberately slow, mulling over the contents. 

There was a knock on the door. In one hysterically impulsive moment, Zuko snatched his father’s letter off the desk. It flashed bright in his hands, there and gone in an instant, so that all that remained was Zuko’s response. He stared at the pile of ash on the desk. What—why had he done that? The knock sounded again, and he swept the debris into the trash. 

“Enter,” he called. Zuko glanced up when the door opened. He wasn’t surprised to see Sokka in the doorway, looking uncertain.

“Sokka,” he said. He’d left him, nearly in the middle of a conversation, and with no explanation. He dragged the letter toward him, palm pressing it flat against the wood, and snatched the sealing wax off his desk. He melted the wax beneath his thumb, pressing a spark of heat into the pads of his fingers, and watched it drop onto the creased edge of the letter.

“Is everything okay?” Sokka asked. “You seemed… upset.”

“I said I was fine,” Zuko said. It came out sharper than he’d intended. He glanced over at Sokka, expecting offence, bristling. He was definitely _frowning_ , but he really only looked… worried. Shame poked at him, as he fumbled for his seal to avoid meeting Sokka’s eye. 

“I know,” Sokka said. “I just wanted to check on you.”

Zuko pressed the seal to the wax, as though sealing it would somehow keep Sokka from prying into its contents. Sokka glanced between the letter and his face, openly concerned.

“My father wrote to me,” Zuko said. “I just… I don't want to keep him waiting. For a response.”

Zuko had expected the frown. He’d expected the curiosity, too, although Sokka hid it well enough. He’d never been so thankful that Sokka was too polite to pry, as he scraped the now sealed letter off the desk and held it stiffly in his hands. 

Sokka stared at it, and he had a single, irrational moment to worry that Sokka was going to ask him about his father, or why he’d needed to drop everything to reply.

But Sokka just nodded toward the doorway, an open invitation. 

“Well,” Sokka said, “I sent Yue to go butter up Katara, if you’re still up for it.” 

Zuko relaxed, just slightly. 

“Yeah,” Zuko said. For a single sheet of paper, the letter felt impossibly heavy in his hands. “I’m going to send this. I’ll meet you there.”


	7. Chapter 7

Zuko was willing to admit that he’d been a bit unfair, with how much he’d been dreading moving on to more practical applications of Water Tribe culture.

He liked working with his hands. It was nice, and meditative. He didn’t have to think beyond focusing on making sure that his work was neat and evenly spaced. He’d expected Yue to leave him to it, but she’d tagged along more often than not, and settled in with the rest of the craftsmen as though she wasn’t a princess with far more important things to occupy her time.

So Zuko had enjoyed weaving, and carving, and learning about the different Water Tribe art styles and how they’d evolved in isolation.

Even learning about the Northern Water Tribe’s weapons had been fine. He’d met with one of the Chief’s men, an older warrior with more gray in his beard than not, who’d methodically walked him through the Water Tribe’s traditional weapons. It was jarringly different from the Fire Nation. He’d paused over each one, explained not just what it was, but how it was made, where the materials had come from, and how it was used—always in the context of how best to hunt with it, as though they’d never imagined another use for it. Zuko knew that was likely oversimplified—he’d seen their training room, he knew they used training dummies and sparred just the same as they did in the Fire Nation.

In the Fire Nation, they wouldn’t have hesitated to demonstrate the superior craftsmanship of a Fire Nation blade, forged from Fire Nation metals, and wielded to cut down Fire Nation enemies. 

There was no threat in this demonstration, and it wasn’t until afterward that Zuko realized he’d been expecting one. The thought made Zuko inexplicably self-conscious, as the man handed him a whale bone spear and asked if he’d like to try it out. 

And that was just—absurd, all on its own, that they’d let him waltz into their armory and pick up a weapon and point it at them, and they didn’t even bat an eye. Zuko was certain that if the Northern Water Tribe sent anyone to the Fire Palace to learn, his grandfather wouldn’t be finding them a sword master of their own. He doubted they’d let them out of their handler’s sight. 

In hindsight, he should have seen the invitation coming, after he’d passed through their weapon’s demonstration without any complaints from his teacher. Yue had warned him from the beginning that he would be expected to go on a hunt with the other men eventually, but Zuko had been trying to put the matter out of his mind. Now, he only hovered outside the meeting hall for a moment, long enough to make certain that it wouldn’t be completely obvious how unenthusiastic he was about hunting anything with a group of men he’d barely spoken to, before reluctantly letting himself inside.

He glanced around the room quickly, taking in the men gathering their gear together. They were all dressed the same way, wearing heavy coats and boots, ankles and forearms wrapped tightly. A servant had delivered a similar outfit to his room earlier that morning. It had taken him an embarrassingly long time to figure out the wrappings, but it had apparently been a very poor attempt. He’d run into Katara in the hallway on his way out, and she’d forced him to stop so she could re-do them for him. Now he was the last person to arrive—he was apparently making a habit of being late, not that anyone actually seemed to care, here. 

Zuko tried not to look too disappointed, when he didn’t see Sokka among the other men. He’d been coming along with Yue more and more, especially to watch as Zuko went through his weapons demonstrations. Zuko wasn’t really sure why—Sokka already knew everything there was to know about Water Tribe weaponry, and he doubted Zuko’s very basic introductory lessons could be entertaining for him. Today he must have been too busy to come. 

Yue _was_ there, standing next to her father at the back of the room, the two of them the only ones not dressed for the weather outside. The Chief was distracted by a conversation, but Yue turned and spotted him as soon as he walked into the room, as though she’d been watching for his arrival. 

Yue smiled at him, lips pressed firmly together, perfectly composed. Her poise didn’t quite reach her eyes, far too expressive and over-wide. Zuko met her eyes and tried to parse the look, nerves fluttering. She cut her gaze very quickly to the side, and he followed the look, and then almost groaned out loud when he realized her meaning.

Hahn was on the other side of the armory, packing supplies with a practiced ease. Zuko turned back to give Yue the flattest look he could muster. She bit her lip and quickly turned away before he could make the placid politeness on her face slip, and Zuko felt a little better. It was short lived, as the Chief finally spotted him. 

Zuko obediently went to join them when the chief waved him over. Yue’s expression didn’t falter, but the tilt of her smile was distinctly apologetic. Zuko tried to convey his understanding with his eyes behind the chief’s back.

“I’ve asked Hahn to lead the hunting party today. He’s a skilled hunter. You’re in good hands,” the Chief assured him. 

Zuko tried not to look too nervous, which he was, or reluctant, which he _absolutely_ was. He thought, maybe, he’d succeeded. The chief nodded to him, and took his leave.

Yue waited a moment for him to go before leaning in, voice lowered to a whisper, and with a very poorly put-upon innocence. “Hahn’s… not that bad?” she tried.

“Oh? Do you want to come, then?” he asked. 

She pursed her lips to keep her composure. “Not even a little,” she admitted. “But… It’s just one day. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

(It was not fine.)

Much like the first night when Chief Arnook had foisted Zuko on him, Hahn’s acknowledgement of his presence lasted until they’d reached the wall, at which point he dropped back into pointedly ignoring him, as he’d done on Zuko’s first night in the palace. It actually made it a bit more tolerable, remembering Sokka’s story about Hahn, knowing that he was just _like this_ , and it wasn’t anything Zuko had done. 

Aside from Hahn, they were joined by four other Water Tribe warriors. They made their opinion of him very plain, giving Zuko a wide berth, bumping shoulders with Hahn, joking amiably among themselves. Which was. Fine. And to be expected, Zuko supposed. He’d been a bit spoiled, with how kind all of the craftsmen he’d met so far had been. Zuko had suspected that Yue was selecting people, specifically, for that purpose—he was probably right, and they’d simply had no other choice, when looking for a hunting party who could take him. 

Zuko guessed most of their other options were already out on real hunts, or otherwise occupied. Supposedly, most hunting trips took days if not weeks, and Zuko had balked before Yue quickly explained that his lesson would be more of a casual demonstration than the real thing, no more than a day trip. 

Zuko heaved a sigh and braced himself as they headed further north, out into the tundra. 

The last few rays of sunlight were disappearing behind the horizon by the time they returned. Zuko bowed hastily and made his exit as soon as they reached the palace. Hahn had seemed reluctant to speak with him, but he’d answered Zuko’s questions when he asked, and so Zuko had made a point to ask as many as he could possibly think of. He was certain that Hahn was sick of him even by midday, and was very happy to see him go now. 

Hahn had apparently, in the several weeks since Zuko had last seen him, shifted his sights from _royalty_ to _a warrior of equal skill and potential_ —at least, if his attempts at flirting were any indication. That was a piece of court gossip Zuko would have been very happy to never learn, doubly so when the other warrior had started flirting back. 

At least it had made the latter half of the day a bit easier, once Zuko started asking his questions in a way that gave Hahn the opportunity to show off his knowledge. Zuko felt like he’d learned well enough on their little trip, and he hoped desperately that they wouldn’t need another one. 

Dinner was waiting for him in his room. Zuko was tired, and very sore from walking so long in the snow. He didn’t bother with lighting a fire, still dressed for the tundra. He ate quickly, and paid very little attention to what he’d been served, other than to eye his sea prune stew balefully before eating that, too, much too hungry to be picky. 

Normally after dinner he’d sit for a while. He’d write to his uncle and his father if he hadn’t yet, and let the moon rise a bit higher before making his way downstairs with his swords to see if Katara was around. He was much too tired to practice with his dao right now. 

He’d hardly spoken to anyone all day, aside from that quiet exchange with Yue, and asking Hahn questions, which had felt more like trying to squeeze blood from a stone than anything remotely resembling a conversation. He was—surprised, to realize how unusual that felt, after such a short time in Agna Qel’a. He could go days without, back home, aside from terse comments from his tutors, or stilted conversation from his staff, and never bat an eye at the loneliness.

It was too quiet in his bedroom. What he really wanted…

Zuko stood from his desk. Paused. And then he forced himself to walk to the door before his nerves could catch up to him. He made it all the way down the hall to Sokka’s bedroom, fist raised to knock, before he lost his nerve again. He was… probably hanging out with Katara, maybe already in the courtyard. Zuko tucked his hands back into his sleeves. Maybe he hadn’t even noticed Zuko’s absence. Or, he’d skipped the hunt on purpose… 

No. That was. Not true. Zuko was—Sokka came and found _him_ , most of the time, he wouldn’t mind. Just the other day he’d made himself at home in Zuko’s room. 

Zuko thought about it. Right. He wouldn’t mind. 

He knocked.

There was a long enough pause that Zuko might have given up, and assumed Sokka wasn’t in after all, if not for the little threads of firelight flickering through the crack beneath the door. The door opened roughly, and then Sokka stopped short. His gaze flicked over Zuko. 

Sokka frowned.

“Uh,” Zuko said faintly. He felt his insides shrivel up into a little ball. He’d been hoping—but he’d been wrong, apparently, and now Sokka seemed upset to see him. “Is this... a bad time? I can come back later.”

Sokka looked like he was thinking about it. Then, he sighed. “No, it’s fine.” 

“...Because if you want me to go, just say so,” he insisted. 

Sokka opened the door wider, a silent invitation to come inside. 

He turned and went back to his bed, sitting in the center and drawing his knees up. Zuko stood indecisively by the door for a moment, but—the fire was roaring in the hearth, and Sokka’s room was much too warm to be dressed fully for the arctic weather. 

“Did you… have a long day?” Zuko asked, nudging out Sokka’s desk chair. He was… these clothes were suffocating. He’d feel better without the coat.

“Not really,” Sokka grumbled. “I didn’t do anything, today.”

Zuko squinted at him. Then he started with the wrap on his boot, leaning down so he didn’t have to look at Sokka, suddenly self-conscious. Maybe he was reading into it too much, and Sokka was just tired too. The silence stretched long as he tugged his pant leg free. 

Agni, it was hot with the coat and the wraps and all the extra layers. He moved on to the wrap around his wrist, but the knot was stubbornly tight. He should have done this in his own room. 

Actually, he shouldn’t have come in here at all. He could feel the sweat pooling on his neck, and he was pretty sure his face was flushed, not just from the heat, which was… embarrassing, because he should have taken the hint when Sokka didn’t come to see him off this morning, let alone when they returned, and this— _stupid knot_ —

“You just seem tired—” 

“I’m not tired!” Sokka said. 

“Okay,” Zuko said. Sokka was—he clearly didn’t want him here, and he was trying to… be polite, and not turn him away. Or something. “I’m tired. I should... I’m tired.”

Sokka turned his head a bit and squinted at him, and then sighed gustily, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders at whatever he saw on Zuko’s face. He caught the bottom of Zuko’s coat with his fingertips before he could make a break for the door.

“No, don’t go,” he grumbled. “I’m moping. I’ll—stop.” Zuko hesitated, but… he looked genuine, and a little guilty. Sokka rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh. Did you need help? With that?”

Zuko wasn’t sure whether he wanted to be frustrated with himself, or just embarrassed. He tugged futilely at the knot on his wrist for a moment longer before he had to admit to himself that he couldn’t do this one-handed. He nodded, and Sokka tugged on his jacket until he sat on the bed beside him.

“Whoever did these knots for you has anger issues,” Sokka grumbled.

“Katara,” Zuko said. Sokka huffed a laugh. He was leaning so close that his breath ghosted over Zuko’s fingers. 

“Well, I guess it did the trick,” Sokka said. “You look very… Water Tribe. How, uh. How was the hunt?”

“Hahn took me,” Zuko said. He felt that summed it up pretty well. 

Zuko expected Sokka to make a joke at that, or coo some over-dramatic sympathetic noises at him. Instead a spark of frustration flashed across his face, almost too quick to see. Sokka yanked the knot the rest of the way loose, and took half the wrap with it with the effort. He grabbed for Zuko’s other wrist.

“I’m—” Zuko almost apologized, not even certain what he would be apologizing for, except that he’d clearly done something to upset him. Sokka glanced up at him before he could, and Zuko bit his tongue as his frown grew deeper, and distinctly more guilty. “Are… you okay?”

“It’s fine. It’s nothing you did,” he clarified, and Zuko felt a little self-conscious as how quickly the knot tightening in his chest bled away. “It’s just—the hunting. They never let me go with them. I mean, it’s not your fault, but... They seriously let _you_ go with them? And you’re not even Water Tribe—”

Oh. Of course. Suddenly Sokka’s absence this morning made a lot more sense. He’d probably already been frustrated, and here Zuko was showing up dressed in his full hunting gear to rub it in. Sokka turned back to picking at the knot on his other wrist, more gently this time. 

“Sorry,” Sokka said. “I didn’t mean it like, you know, like you don’t deserve to go. I’m not mad at _you_.” They sat in silence for a bit, until he’d managed to get that one undone, too. Zuko unwound the wraps from his forearms slowly, considering. He could guess why Sokka wasn’t invited. 

“The... Moon Spirit thing again?” Zuko asked. 

Sokka nodded, looking pained, and a little frustrated with himself. 

“A lot of the men are really superstitious,” he sighed. “I think they don’t want to risk something happening, and drawing the wrath of the spirits, or something stupid like that. Sometimes it feels like they treat me more like a spirit than a person.”

Sokka balled up one of the wraps and tossed it on the floor. He sighed, and added, “And then the half that _aren’t_ superstitious get all twisted up about the stupid prince thing, like I’m not just a normal person like the rest of them. And I think the Chief is just worried what my dad would think.”

Sokka sighed and flopped backwards onto the mattress. 

“Chief Arnook is super overprotective, of all of us really, and Dad… worries. I can tell he would rather Katara and I just sit inside this nice little ice wall forever, and...” 

Sokka trailed off, frustrated. 

Chief Hakoda sounded like a good man, and… Zuko could understand him wanting to spare his children from further hardship. 

Sokka groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “I know I’m not being fair, because he’s just trying to protect us, but—ugh!”

“Hm,” Zuko said. “Well that’s… that’s rough, buddy.”

That startled a laugh out of him. Sokka smiled, a little crooked, and said, “Yeah, it is.”

“And,” Zuko said at length, “We didn’t catch anything today. So maybe… maybe sometime we can go together, and you can show me how it’s done.”

Sokka blinked at him. Zuko had been…less than enthusiastic about the idea of hunting, and had done a poor job of hiding it, but he thought that if it was Sokka taking him, he wouldn’t mind so much. A slow grin spread across Sokka’s face at the idea, bright and eager and a little hopeful. 

“I’m out of practice,” Sokka warned him, as though Zuko could possibly care about that, or would even know the difference. “But—yeah. I’d like that.”

Zuko shrugged. “I’m sure you’d do a better job than Hahn.”

“Oh, you think so highly of me,” Sokka said. It was meant to be a joke, but—

“I do,” Zuko said. He winced internally at how quickly the words came out, too honest and too eager. He glanced over, ready to make a excuse, or a joke of it, something to walk the comment back. But then he caught the pleased expression on Sokka’s face, and the words caught in Zuko’s throat. 

Sokka leaned up on his elbows, smile still in place—

Before either of them could recover, the door banged open, without so much as a knock. Zuko jerked away from Sokka quickly, almost on impulse, heart hammering in his chest. Sokka did the same, and then chuckled self-consciously and glanced away. 

They turned to the door in time to see Katara stroll into the room, Yue following much more sedately behind her. 

“Can’t you learn to knock?” Sokka asked, but if he was trying to sound annoyed, it wasn’t very convincing. 

“You know, I would have knocked, but when I tried that earlier you were too busy moping to answer the door,” Katara chided him. “But I guess _Zuko_ is allowed—”

“Are you just here to bully me?” Sokka interrupted. 

“Actually, we _were_ coming to try to cheer you up, but I see we have a bit of competition,” Katara said. Sokka perked up a little at that.

“I’m open to other bids for my affection,” Sokka said. Zuko’s stomach swooped a bit at the word _affection_ , but none of them seemed to notice as Yue finally pulled her hand from behind her back. 

“Is that wine?” Sokka asked. He gasped, mock-appalled. “Did you steal that from the kitchen?”

Yue shrugged. She was fighting with a mischievous grin, and trying very hard to hide it behind her politely poised smile. “It was leftover from the welcome banquet. It’d be a shame to waste it, and… no one will notice one missing bottle, anyway.”

“Katara is a bad influence on you,” Sokka said. 

“It was my idea,” Yue admitted. 

“Well then you’re _both_ a bad influence on _me_ ,” Sokka said. He was already digging around for his boots, looking far too eager for someone trying to pretend to be a victim of temptation. Katara rolled her eyes.

“Not likely,” Katara said. She scooped Sokka’s gloves off the table and threw them at his head. “Now, come on. Enough moping around, let’s go.”

The night air was brisk. There were only a handful of lanterns lit out on the canals, but they had no trouble navigating the walkways. The waxing moon hung bright in the clear sky, easily lighting the path ahead of them. 

“This one’s…” Yue squinted at the label in the darkness. She brightened, “Oh, it’s from the colonies.” She turned the bottle toward Zuko. “Have you tied it before?”

Zuko didn’t bother looking at the label. “Probably not,” he said. 

They stopped at one of the bridges that crossed over the canal. Zuko turned to ask if they were really going to stop right there in the middle of the walkway. Instead he watched as Katara planted her feet at the edge of the water.

She raised both hands, and a solid sheet of ice rose out of the water under the bridge. She swept a trail of water from the platform to the edge of the canal, and with another sharp movement, it crystallized into a set of—admittedly lumpy—stairs. 

“Show off,” Sokka teased, when Katara sent him a smug look. 

The little alcove felt surprisingly private, between the white noise of the water flowing under the ice and the roof of the moon bridge above them. Zuko settled down under the shadow of the bridge with his back against the ice. It was a bit dark where the lantern light couldn’t quite reach them, but in a way that felt cozy. 

“Can one of you open this?” Yue asked. 

Sokka dropped down to sit next to Zuko. _Right_ next to Zuko, so close that their shoulders were brushing. There wasn’t that much room for them all to sit, so it probably didn’t mean anything, but Zuko’s heart stuttered, anyway.

“Here,” Zuko said, waving for Yue to hand the bottle over. He lit a little flame on his fingertip, and held it up to the neck of the bottle. After a moment, the cork popped free and bounced away into the canal. 

“Neat trick,” Katara said. 

“My cousin taught me,” Zuko said. Technically, Zuko had seen Lu Ten demonstrate the trick at one of their grandfather’s parties when he was a child. He’d never had the chance to try it, before now.

Sokka took a drink straight from the bottle, and then passed it over to Zuko with one of those lopsided smiles. Zuko barely tasted it, too busy trying not to flush, when he touched his lips to the bottle right after. The wine wasn’t very strong, which was... probably for the best. 

Zuko felt a little dizzy anyway, when he passed the bottle over to Katara. She’d practically settled in Yue’s lap, so that she had to lean over dramatically and flap her hand at him until he leaned in close enough. He chuckled at her as she plucked the bottle from his fingers with a triumphant noise. 

They passed the bottle around a few times, getting comfortable, talking about nothing. Zuko stretched out his legs and sighed, rolling out his aching shoulder. Maybe it was the wine, or the stress of the day, but he was _tired_. Katara hummed sympathetically. 

“How bad was it?” Katara asked. 

“It was…” Zuko considered how to respond to that tactfully, but flush with wine—and other things, with Sokka leaning distractedly into his side—he came up with nothing. The silence stretched a beat too long, and Katara laughed. 

“See, Sokka? You would have hated hunting with Hahn,” Katara said.

“So? Maybe I wanted to go anyway,” Sokka grumbled. 

“Sokka…” Katara began. He just leaned forward and shook his head sharply. 

“I’ve been ice dodging! I’m old enough to decide for myself,” Sokka said. 

He was really leaning into Zuko’s side, now, even if it was just so that he would look particularly pitiful. Katara rolled her eyes. 

“We didn’t come out here for you to feel sorry for yourself,” Katara said. Yue handed Zuko the bottle with gravity. “Let’s change the subject. Here. Zuko, tell us about the Fire Nation.” 

Zuko hesitated. “What do you want to know?” he asked. 

Katara shrugged. “Something distracting. I don’t know… what did you do for fun?”

“Sword training,” Zuko said immediately. It was, most likely, the only thing that qualified as fun. Katara rolled her eyes. 

“You two are perfect for each other,” she muttered. Zuko didn’t get a chance to ask what she’d meant by _that_. “Training is _training_ , that’s not for fun. You’ve heard of fun in the Fire Nation, haven’t you?”

Well. Not in Zuko’s experience, no, but he wasn’t going to admit as much. He racked his brain for a moment.

“I liked… the theater?” he said. At least, he used to when he was little. “My mother used to take us to see the Ember Island Players every summer.” Zuko thought about it, wrinkled his nose. “They weren’t very good, now that I think about it.”

This had been… before. He’d been too young to really pay attention to whether the shows were any good. They were just… fun, even if his mother always got embarrassingly weepy during the love stories, and Lu Ten laughed a little too loud at the jokes Zuko didn’t understand, and Azula always spoiled the endings. Then Uncle would take them all to the beach, and they’d sit in the sand and build castles, or wade out into the waves. It was one of the few times he remembered not worrying about his studies, about Azula, or what his father thought… 

“We used to swim,” he added, because he didn’t know how to put the rest to words. “I do miss the beaches, a little.”

“Well, it’s definitely too cold to swim up here,” Sokka said. 

Thank the spirits for that, Zuko thought, because Sokka was distracting enough in his big puffy coat, and the thought of him shedding those layers for a swim might actually made Zuko combust. He took a drink to distract himself, and then Sokka plucked the bottle out of his hands, looking contemplative.

“We can definitely do beaches, though,” Sokka said. “They’re kind of a long walk—oh, have you ever been sailing?”

“I sailed here, didn’t I?” he asked. 

“A Fire Nation steamship doesn’t count. They don’t even have sails,” Sokka said. Zuko shrugged. He couldn't argue with that. “Man, you’re really missing out. There’s a bunch of islands to the south of here that—well, it’s probably not like beaches in the Fire Nation, they’re mostly rock, but it’s dry enough this time of year that the islands aren’t buried under a ton of ice and snow. The view is incredible, apparently, not that they’ve ever let me see for myself...”

Zuko paused to take another sip of wine when Sokka handed it to him, and nodded in the appropriate places as Sokka started to get going, from talking about the beach—was it a beach? It sounded like a rock in the middle of the ocean to Zuko—and the surrounding isles, into describing how the positioning of the islands affected the currents. 

Sokka talked with his hands, marking the shape of the islands in the air animatedly. He sounded so excited talking about… rocks? Or maybe how the rocks guided the currents. Zuko actually, maybe, wasn’t totally listening anymore, because the way Sokka was smiling was very distracting, faintly flush from the wine. He turned suddenly and grabbed Zuko’s shoulder, leaning in with a grin that made Zuko smile back on impulse.

“Maybe we can convince Chief Arnook to let us take a ship out,” Sokka said. He hesitated. “I mean, they probably won’t let us go _alone_ if I come along, so I don’t know if you’d want to—”

“I want to,” Zuko interrupted. Sokka flashed him a smile. Zuko could almost convince himself that smile was for him, and not just because Sokka was excited. Then Sokka leaned into—no, leaned _around_ Zuko, the hand on his arm was just for balance, as he tried to catch Katara’s eye. It was almost easy to forget, when Sokka was looking at him, that they weren’t alone—

“Do you guys want to—oh, gross, Katara!” Sokka yelled, shielding his eyes dramatically. 

Zuko turned to look, confused, and saw that Katara and Yue were—ah. Zuko chuckled and politely turned away, blushing. 

“I thought you were trying to make me feel better, not make me throw up,” Sokka said, peeking between his fingers. 

Katara shot him a squinty glare over Yue’s shoulder, but then her expression flickered, just to this side of mischievous. Sokka had half a moment to look nervous before the edge of the ice collapsed under him, dunking him up to the knees in the slushy water in the canal. 

Sokka screamed and scrambled back onto the bank. The whole city probably knew where they were hiding, now, but Zuko was too busy trying not to get dragged in by grasping hands to worry. 

“I can’t believe you!” Sokka gasped. “Katara, dry me off!”

“No, I don’t think I will,” she said. 

“I thought you wanted to make me feel better,” Sokka whined. Katara looked completely unmoved. “Zuko, tell her.”

“Well, you should have known better,” Zuko said. “It’s slippery by the edge.”

Sokka gaped at him, as both Yue and Katara broke into giggles. But then Sokka laughed too, loud and bright, and smacked Zuko so hard on the shoulder that he almost fell in, too. 

“Fair. I deserved that,” he said. He clapped his hands on his knees. “Welp, I know when I’m not wanted. Don’t mind me, I’ll just be going. Off to freeze to death, you know, with my _wet boots_.”

Katara waved him off lazily, not even acknowledging the attempt to make her guilty. Yue laughed behind her hand. 

Sokka stood and climbed half-way up the little makeshift stairs before he turned back around. He raised an eyebrow. “Are you coming?” he asked. 

Zuko glanced up, and flushed when he realized that Sokka was talking to him.

“Oh. Yes,” he said. There wasn’t much wine left in the bottle, hardly enough for a cup. He jammed the bottle into the slush next to Yue’s boot, then climbed to his feet. Sokka leaned down to offer him a hand up as they climbed back onto the canal walkway. 

“Don’t wait up,” Katara called after them, to which Sokka made more over-exaggerated gagging noises. 

Sokka grabbed Zuko’s hand and tugged him back over the bridge. Split among the four of them, they’d hardly had more than a glass of wine each. Zuko definitely hadn’t had enough to justify how unsteady he felt, or to explain away the flush in his cheeks. 

“You’re gonna dry me out, right?” Sokka asked, as soon as they were over the other side of the bridge. Zuko huffed, mock-indigent. 

“Is that all I am to you?” he asked, but he was already plucking at the fingers of his gloves. He could see where the water was already freezing to the outside of his boots, forming a thin layer of frost. 

Sokka just grinned cheekily, and Zuko couldn’t help the indulgent smile that threatened to edge out his mock-offended expression. He tried to hide it, and failed—Sokka only looked delighted. Zuko ducked his head to hide his own embarrassment and reached out to cup his hands around Sokka’s pant leg. He pressed the heat into his hands, just enough to warm, and careful to keep the temperature steady. 

A cloud of steam drifted off on the breeze. Sokka shivered.

“Thanks,” Sokka said. “I’m not ready to go inside yet. Let’s walk down to the harbor.” 

The soft glow from the lanterns flickered off the water, casting long shadows down the walkways. A comfortable silence stretched between them, broken only by the crunch of their boots in the snow. The streets thinned once they turned toward the harbor. 

They walked along the canal side by side, shoulders brushing. Zuko tucked his hands into his sleeves, cheeks turned down against the chill. 

Sokka turned his face up toward the stars with an idle grin. He looked relaxed in the moonlight, scanning the stars, the barest shine of the lantern light reflected in his eyes. Zuko tried not to stare. 

“The constellations all look different here,” he said after a moment. Zuko tore his eyes away from Sokka’s face to turn toward the sky. 

“Do you miss the South Pole?” Zuko asked. 

Sokka slid his hands into his pockets, shrugged. “All the time,” he said. 

Zuko nodded.

“Do you miss the Fire Nation?” Sokka asked. 

The question shouldn’t have surprised him, but he was a bit caught off guard, anyway, because...

Did he miss the Fire Nation? His immediate impulse was to say yes, of course he did. That was the whole reason he was _here_ , so that he could eventually go back, return to Caldera City with his head held high. Of course he wanted to go back, right? 

But. That wasn’t the same as missing the Fire Nation. If he thought about what he missed most from the Fire Nation… a lot of those memories were old, and a bit hazy, snatches of happiness in his mother’s garden, his uncle’s indulgent smiles, riding his cousin’s shoulders on the beach on Ember Island, playing with Azula as children, before, before...

“I don’t know,” Zuko said. “It’s been a long time.”

Sokka gave him a strange look. “It’s only been a few months,” he said. 

“Right,” Zuko said. “No, right. I just mean… I don’t know. It’s complicated,” he said. He didn’t know how else to explain without _explaining_. “I don’t think it’ll ever really feel the same, when I go back.”

Sokka smiled, sympathetic and a little sad. He nodded. “Yeah. I get that,” he said.

The South Pole was probably near unrecognizable now, years later and after the end of the war and the start of the reconstruction project, even if it was slow to begin. Sokka had lost everything, and then he’d left his home behind, and it had all changed in his absence. Everything Zuko remembered was the same, it was just the people who had changed.

“Can I ask—I know you said your father worries,” Zuko said. “But the war has been over for years, so, I guess I don’t understand why you haven’t gone home.”

There was always the chance that Sokka and Katara hadn’t gone home because they _couldn’t_ , in the same way that Zuko couldn’t, not without an invitation, but… with the way Sokka talked about his father, he had to believe there was some other reason. 

“Dad thinks it’s important to have someone here to represent the Southern Water Tribe while we rebuild,” Sokka said. Zuko frowned slightly. 

“That doesn’t have to be you, though,” he said. There had to be other people who were just as qualified, and—the war had ended five years ago. Sokka and Katara had been children, then, too young for that responsibility.

“Yeah, I know,” Sokka said. “I mean… I already told you how Tui’s blessing got stronger the further north we sailed.” Sokka tugged on one of his braids, as though Zuko needed a reminder. “The Northern Water Tribe has always had a stronger connection because—well, anyway.” 

Sokka shrugged slightly. He was quiet for a moment.

“You know, my dad was the one who was supposed to take us ice dodging,” Sokka said. “Chief Arnook took us. And your first hunt, it’s supposed to be your dad that takes you, but I never got to do that.”

Sokka’s hands were in his pockets, shoulders tense. He kicked a little pile of slush off the walkway and watched it splatter into the canal. 

“We hardly ever see him. After my mom died, and then I almost died, I think… No, I _know_ he wants us to come home, but I think he’s afraid that the moon spirit brought me here for a reason,” Sokka said. “We’re not really sure what will happen if I leave, and Katara won’t go without me.”

Sokka had told him earlier how frustrating the other warrior’s superstitions were. Zuko couldn’t imagine how much worse it was coming from his own father, with no way to know whether the choices they made were the right ones, and knowing that there may be a real danger in defying Tui’s wishes. The spirits could be fickle, even with the best intentions.

It was quiet besides the gentle splash of the waves washing against the wall. Zuko turned and glanced back the way they’d come, and then up ahead of them down the pier. It took Sokka a moment to notice he’d stopped, distracted by his own thoughts.

“Where is everyone?” Zuko asked. The pier was dark, but it wasn’t actually that late. Usually there would still be a handful of people milling about, even in the cold. “Why is it so empty?”

“Oh, right,” Sokka shrugged. “Probably because the pier is technically supposed to be shut down so they can set up for the Vernal Equinox Festival.”

“The—if it’s supposed to be shut down...” Zuko looked again, and realized that the cramped walkways were packed with decorations. He hadn’t even been paying attention, because he’d been too focused on Sokka. “Should we be out here?”

“Psh,” Sokka waved dismissively. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I just, I don’t want to—”

“Get me in trouble, yeah, you’ve mentioned,” Sokka said, cutting him off before he could finish the thought. 

Zuko crossed his arms, uncomfortable at being read so easily. Sokka glanced back at him, eyebrows raised, maybe a bit teasing. Whatever he was going to say, he seemed to change his mind at the look on Zuko’s face. His expression softened. Sokka turned his gaze back out to the bay. He was quiet for a moment, rubbing a hand over the nape of his neck as he gathered his thoughts. 

“Listen, Zuko,” Sokka said, just as the silence was starting to make Zuko nervous. “I don’t know what it was like for you, growing up in the Fire Palace. And I get the impression that your… that it was… strict. But you can relax a bit, okay? It’s not like that here.”

“I didn’t,” Zuko said.

He could see the outline of the wall through the darkness, illuminated in the light of the near-full moon. He traced the edge of it with his eyes, long enough that the silence between them stretched thin. Zuko finally glanced back and found Sokka watching him, confused, waiting for him to clarify. 

“I didn’t… grow up in the Fire Palace.” Zuko said. “I mean, I kind of… I left when I was thirteen, because—anyway. The only time I’ve been back home was right before I was sent here. So it’s not… the Fire Palace. That’s not why… I haven’t lived there for a long time.”

“Oh,” Sokka said. He looked startled. “Were you sent—was it because of the war, too?”

He sounded… not hopeful, but something like it, so understanding that it made Zuko’s chest ache. He thought they were the same, or had this in common, and… 

Zuko hesitated a moment too long, his response caught in his throat. His heart thumped as he tried to think of an answer. His silence as he groped for some excuse was answer enough. 

“Ah,” Sokka said. He looked like he regretted asking. He rubbed the back of his neck and turned his gaze up to the sky, as though he hadn’t noticed Zuko’s hesitance. “Sorry. You don’t have to… Let’s change the subject.”

“It’s okay,” Zuko said. “I...”

Zuko could deflect his question. He could say yes, and it wouldn’t even be a lie, not really. He _had_ been sent away because of the war, in a way. Sokka may know it wasn’t the full truth, but he would let it slide. He was willing to change the topic, carry on like he’d never said anything. He’d gladly let Zuko make an excuse, and… he wouldn’t be annoyed, or press him, or judge him for it.

And just knowing that made him feel strangely brave. 

“This is—you can’t tell anyone,” Zuko said. No one had told him not to speak of it, but the implications had been clear. Zuko wasn’t certain that anyone knew the full story, besides his father and him. Even his grandfather hadn’t been there, when—

“My grandfather is ill,” Zuko said, before he could lose his nerve. “It’s not spoken about, but he’s been ill for years. When I was ten, my m—someone tried to poison him. He lived.”

“Oh. We know,” Sokka said. Zuko shot him a startled glance, and Sokka shrugged. “About your grandfather, I mean. Not the details, but—the rumors. Servants talk.” 

He found that he wasn’t that surprised that the Northern Water Tribe was savvy enough to have heard about his grandfather, or that the Fire Nation was arrogant enough to think their state secrets were safe.

“My father thinks that nearly dying made my grandfather soft,” Zuko said. “It probably did. I don’t think he would have pulled out of the Earth Kingdom, otherwise, even after everything.” 

Lu Ten’s injury, his uncle’s failure to capture Ba Sing Se… both had contributed, but in the end Zuko privately agreed with the nastier whisperings in the court, that the Fire Lord’s reasons for withdrawing their troops from the Earth Kingdom had much less to do with peace, and much more to do with his own sense of self-preservation.

“My father has never approved. He thinks the Fire Nation is meant for greater things than simply coexisting with the other nations.”

“Never approved… of peace?” Sokka asked incredulously. 

“Of weakness,” Zuko said. He hesitated. “Have you ever heard of Yu Dao?” 

Zuko almost hoped he had—he’d known about the Fire Lord’s illness, maybe he would already know about this. Maybe Zuko wouldn’t have to say it, taking the coward’s way out again.

“No,” Sokka said. “What’s Yu Dao?” 

Zuko nodded tightly. There had only been three people in that room. He’d expected the no. 

“It’s not called that anymore, but it used to be one of the wealthiest cities in the Fire Nation. They declared independence a few years ago, and changed their name, but before that Yu Dao was a Fire Nation colony in the western Earth Kingdom.”

He sighed and cast his gaze back toward the solemn stretch of wall reaching across the bay.

“Before the peace treaties were signed, my grandfather learned that a rebellion was brewing in Yu Dao,” Zuko said. 

At that point, aside from a few brief skirmishes, the Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom had been in a cease fire for nearly three years. Everyone knew the peace talks were coming. Yu Dao was wealthy, and poised right on the edge of two nations who both had good reason to claim them. The citizens of Yu Dao were scared that once the peace talks began, both sides would tear them apart.

“Normally, the crown prince—my uncle—would be invited to give council to the Fire Lord, but my cousin and my uncle were visiting Bhanti Island in the southern Fire Nation. The sages there can use their firebending to manipulate a person’s chi paths. Uncle thought they might be able to help treat my cousin’s injury,” he said. 

“My uncle wasn’t available, so my father requested an audience with the Fire Lord instead. Lu Ten usually accompanies my uncle, so Grandfather suggested...” Zuko closed his eyes for a moment. “He suggested I attend with my father, to observe. I was—so excited.”

He’d felt like he was finally getting his chance to prove himself. And he’d been so proud, because his grandfather had suggested him, and not Azula, even though Zuko knew his father would have preferred her. 

“I wasn’t supposed to speak. Even Lu Ten mostly just observes when he attends with Uncle, and I was only thirteen,” he said. “So I just—I was just supposed to listen.”

If he’d had any sense he would have. He would have kept his mouth shut. Zuko had always been too stupid for politics.

“Father was pressing my grandfather to send troops to stop the rebellion,” he said.

Yu Dao was wealthy, but it also held one of the Fire Nation’s largest coal repositories at the time. Nearly a quarter of the Fire Navy relied on it for refueling, something he now knew his father was considering when he suggested taking the city back by force. It was no secret that his father opposed the idea of peace, even years into their tentative cease-fire with the Earth Kingdom. 

“Yu Dao was a Fire Nation colony, but it was on the Earth Kingdom mainland. Sending troops would have been seen as a threat. If we’d put down the rebellion like my father wanted, it would have harmed the peace talks. It could have reignited the war.”

In truth Zuko hadn’t even been considering the greater implications for the war. At thirteen, after three years without fighting, it had seemed clear that peace was only a matter of time, and not the extremely tenuous thing it was. He’d been too naive to know better. That wasn’t why he’d spoken out. 

He’d just… the idea of sending the military after their own citizens had simply seemed—wrong.

“I interrupted him. Questioned him. In front of the Fire Lord. And I told him that there were loyal Fire Nation citizens in Yu Dao too, and sending troops would put them in harm's way.”

Zuko cut a glance over at Sokka, trying to gauge his reaction. Sokka was smart—he was a genius. Zuko was sure if it had been him, he would have thought of something clever to say. 

There were plenty of other reasons to leave the rebels alone. 

The peace talks hadn’t even been proposed yet, and harming them would have thrown the Fire Nation back into a war they’d only just begun to put to an end.

And the Fire Nation didn’t _need_ Yu Dao’s coal repositories in peacetime—there would be no great Fire Navy to supply, without a war.

And if Yu Dao _was_ a topic of debate during the peace talks, wouldn’t it have been better to have them see the Fire Nation as allies, their own countrymen, rather than label themselves as enemies of the people and send them running into the Earth Kingdom’s arms, taking their wealth and their resources with them? 

Zuko had had plenty of time to think of all the ways he might have explained himself differently, if only he’d been smarter, or more well-spoken. He had agonized over that moment for years: what he might have said that could have made his father understand that he only had the Fire Nation’s best interests at heart.

It didn’t matter, though, because—

“My grandfather agreed with me,” Zuko said. “He seemed pleased. And I was—so stupid, I couldn’t believe he’d agreed, I thought… I’d done well, and, that my father—might see that, if the Fire Lord approved, maybe he—” 

Zuko shook his head, and discarded the thought. 

“Father was _furious_ ,” he said. “I’d spoken out of turn, and disrespected him in front of the Fire Lord, and he…” He couldn’t quite bring himself to touch his cheek, fingers hovering over skin. It didn’t hurt any more, except in ways that a healer couldn’t treat, but the reminder was hard to ignore. “My father wanted to teach me. Respect.”

Zuko was watching for the moment that Sokka understood, expecting shock and certainly pity. Instead, Sokka looked horrified, as horrified as Zuko had felt seeing Sokka’s scar, and then such a look of disgust crossed his face that Zuko had to look away. 

He thought that look wasn’t for him. But just in case—

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before, when you asked,” Zuko said. He’d felt truly stupid about that, even as he’d done it. Sokka had told _him_ everything. “I know it’s not the same. And, I was ashamed, because...” 

Sokka grabbed his hand and squeezed, desperately, and Zuko could tell just from his expression that he didn’t get it, he wasn’t listening, because if he was he wouldn’t be looking at Zuko like _that_ , with pain and sadness and not even a shadow of the disgust currently roiling in Zuko’s stomach. His eyes were huge, shining in the cast-off light of the moon.

“What are you talking about?” Sokka demanded. “There’s nothing shameful about standing up for—”

“No. I didn’t,” Zuko interrupted, suddenly frustrated. The look on his face stole the breath from his lungs. Sokka wasn’t understanding. “I didn’t _stand up_ for anything. I _knew_ that what my father was suggesting was wrong. And I still… I got on my knees, and I begged him to forgive me, and I told him I’d speak with my grandfather and ask him to reconsider even though I knew, _I knew_ that was… I just… I was—” 

Terrified, terrified, even _now_ he was still—

Sokka reached out and caught his wrists. Standing this close, they were a mirror of that meeting days ago, when Sokka had eagerly asked him to teach him how to sword fight. There was nothing eager in his expression now, all raw and anxiously sad. Even through his white gloves, Zuko imagined the warmth of his fingers wrapped around his wrists. 

“Zuko,” Sokka said fiercely, and any protest he might have had died on his lips, “You are the _last_ person who should be ashamed.”

“I—” he said, or tried to say. He nearly choked on it, because—

“Because what he… Zuko, he was _wrong_ ,” Sokka said. 

“I know,” Zuko said. He’d known for a long time. He’d spent years and years of wondering why father loved Azula more, watching other parents with their children, Uncle with Lu Ten. Wondering if he’d deserved it, not willing to admit, even to himself, that he knew he hadn’t. “I didn’t use to, but… I know. Now.” 

He should be more upset, shaken, something. Instead, he was just tired. 

“And you still write letters to him every week,” Sokka said. It wasn’t hostile, or judgmental, but Sokka was looking at him like he was something he couldn’t understand.

“It’s complicated,” Zuko said. How could he explain? The only thing he could say was, “He’s my father. And. I’m still a citizen of the Fire Nation. I’m—I’m still a prince. My grandfather gave me this appointment. I was lucky to have it.”

“Zuko,” Sokka said quietly. “What are you going to do, when your appointment is over?”

“I’m—” Going home, he wanted to say. The answer came almost on impulse, because—of course he was going home. That was the whole reason he’d been sent here, to earn another chance, to prove himself, and return to the palace, and…

Sokka was watching him so carefully, patiently waiting for his response. 

He should want to go home. It was all he’d wanted since his grandfather had sent him away, it was why he’d agreed to come to the Northern Water Tribe in the first place. It _should_ be a simple decision. 

He didn’t know why he was hesitating. The Fire Palace might have been home, once, but when he tried to picture himself living there now he could only imagine himself _then_ , before everything, with Uncle and Lu Ten and mother—

“If I do a good job, then I can go home,” Zuko said quietly. The words were dry in his mouth. “There’s nowhere else for me to… it’s what I’ve been working for.”

“Right,” Sokka said. “Okay.” 

The pleasant buzz from earlier was gone. His limbs felt weak, unsteady in a way that had nothing to do with the wine. Zuko drew a shallow breath, trying to force his heartbeat to calm down. 

They were standing very close together, close enough that it would have been a matter of inches for either of them to lean in. He wanted to. He wouldn’t. 

Sokka sighed. He turned, bumped Zuko’s shoulder with his own. 

“Let’s head back inside,” Sokka said. “We can hang out, or... I mean, we can just call it a night, if you’re tired.”

“I’m not,” Zuko said. He’d stay out all night, if he could. If Sokka would stay with him.

“Great,” Sokka said. He grabbed Zuko’s arm, and tucked it into his own. Zuko knew it was ridiculous, with two layers of coats between them, the heat he imagined against his skin. Sokka smiled at him, smaller, just for them. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re the one they sent.”

“Yeah,” Zuko said. “Me too.”


	8. Chapter 8

Before Lu Ten and Uncle left for the Earth Kingdom, they’d taken Zuko to see the apri-cherries bloom in one of the villages east of Caldera City. Azula had been too stubborn to go with them, because she’d wanted to go to the festival with Mai and Ty Lee, so it had been just the three of them.

It was so long ago that Zuko could hardly remember the day, only that he’d been happy. 

Beyond that, Zuko had very little idea what he was actually supposed to _do_ at a festival. Most of his experience came from a few rare occasions with his mother and father—but back then he’d been expected to sit very still and stay quiet through the ceremonies, not actually go out and enjoy the festivities.

Of course, the Northern Water Tribe festival looked nothing like the Fire Nation’s, but Zuko thought like this, at night, it might be even more beautiful. The ice glittered like stars, and delicate sculptures had sprung up all along the canals, glowing golden in the lamplight.

A pleasant buzz had settled under his skin, not the usual cold anxiety that coiled through his stomach. He’d told Sokka everything, and nothing had changed between them. Or, it had, but not in a bad way. He didn’t think he’d been imagining the way Sokka searched him out more often than not, these days, or the way it seemed expected that Zuko would go with him to the festival instead of Yue.

Sokka had dragged Zuko through what felt like half the city on a shopping spree, and had come out of it with two seemingly identical boomerangs, as well as a hat, a bracelet, and a new bag to put it all in.

They’d split up with Katara and Yue after a disagreement over whether they should go to pay their respects to the spirits first. Sokka had firmly refused to go with Katara and Yue, on the grounds that he got stared at enough as it was, and the last thing he wanted was, as he’d put it, “A bunch of superstitious old ladies trying to make offerings to him”. He had insisted on shopping instead. 

Zuko was supposed to be learning more of the cultural significance of the festival. Going with Yue and Katara to honor the spirits would… probably have been a better use of his time, but instead he’d found himself tagging along with Sokka. 

Well… there would be more time, later. They’d agreed to meet back up afterwards to buy dinner—he could always ask them how it went. And he was, technically, still experiencing the festival. It didn’t really feel like work, surrounded by the cheerful music, the dancing, and the tantalizing smells wafting off the marketplace.

“I cannot _believe_ that Katara gave me such a hard time about not being late, and she’s not even here yet,” Sokka said.

“I can tell you’re really torn up about it,” Zuko said. 

“I am!” Sokka insisted. “What’s the point of even coming to the festival if they’re not going to eat with us? All the good stuff will be sold out.”

Even Zuko knew that the purpose of the holiday was not just to eat festival food, but he kindly didn’t say as much. 

“If you want to eat now, I’m... sure they’ll catch up?” Zuko suggested, which was all it took for Sokka’s willpower to break. 

A chill damp hung in the air, promising snow. Fog rolled in off the bay, making the festivities feel almost intimate, even with the streets so packed with people that the city’s waterbenders had been forced to widen the walkways in places.

The marketplace was bustling with people cutting through clouds of sweet-smelling smoke wafting off the cooking fires. Zuko watched them browse the stalls, cheerful despite the cold. Occasionally he would nudge Sokka to ask about something he didn’t recognize, but… he actually knew what most of the foods were, had seen and even made with his own hands many of the crafts for sale in the shops. Somewhere in the last few weeks he’d become more of an expert than he’d realized. 

This was nothing like the welcome banquet, that first night in Agna Qel’a. He’d felt so out of place then, so nervous to be dumped into the middle of an unfamiliar court. He didn’t feel that way now, tagging along after Sokka as he wove through the crowds, chatting with the vendors and boatmen as often as the nobles and servants coming from the palace for a night at the festival. 

There was a mob of children clustered around one of the stalls on the edge of the marketplace, waiting impatiently as the vendor handed out little caramelized balls of spun sugar. The sweet scent of burnt sugar carried over the breeze, and Zuko wondered idly as yet another pair of them ran past with their desserts whether it was traditional for the festival, with how many they were selling. He turned to ask and saw that Sokka had wandered off. 

He was chatting with one of the food stall owners, leaning over the back of her stand. The line in front of the stall was growing steadily, but the woman didn’t seem to notice. She flapped her hand at Sokka and bustled away to the other end of her stall. 

Zuko caught the eye of the woman at the front of the line. She rolled her eyes good-naturedly, seeming unbothered by being made to wait. Maybe they were used to it—Sokka seemed to charm everyone he met. The vendor pressed a steaming bowl into Sokka’s hands, ignoring his bashful protests, and shooed him away before he could pay for the food. Sokka laughed a little to himself, prodding the contents with his spoon a bit self-consciously as he turned back to Zuko.

“Do you want some?” Sokka asked. He offered the bowl out to him, and Zuko tried not to make a face when he saw the sea prune stew, steaming merrily in the cold. 

“No,” Zuko said quickly. “Thank you. I’m… not hungry?”

He’d said it a little too quickly, apparently, because Sokka turned more fully to squint at him. A beat passed, and then a slow grin spread across his face as he ducked his head to lean into Zuko’s space.

“Dude,” he whispered, conspiratorially, like they might get caught. “You don’t _like_ sea prunes!” He smacked Zuko playfully on the arm. “What the hell, man! Yue thinks they’re your favorite food! She kept asking the kitchen to make it for you. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“She seemed so excited,” Zuko mumbled. He resisted the urge to bury his face in his sleeve. He could feel his ears turning pink. 

Sokka just cackled. He’d seen him laugh before, he laughed all the time, so it didn’t make sense why he found the sight so compelling. Zuko couldn’t help but stare.

“Okay, come on,” Sokka said, eyes crinkling in amusement. Zuko got the distinct impression that he wasn’t going to let him live this one down. Sokka elbowed him lightly. “We’ll get you something you actually want.”

There was a murky puddle of slush half-frozen over by the fry bread stall, the steam from the stove melting the snow underneath and sending it trickling lazily down the walk. Sokka put a hand on his back for just a moment as they stepped around it, over the slick ice and into the line. Zuko nearly jumped at the contact, and the spot still felt overwarm when he pulled away.

Zuko glanced at him, and for a moment he was dangerously close to doing something stupid, like chasing that soft touch for more, reaching out to touch him back. Sokka didn’t even seem to notice, craning his neck to get a look at the line behind them, and the cluster of customers waiting for their food. He bounced on the balls of his feet, trying to warm himself while they waited for Zuko’s order to fry.

Zuko breathed deep, exhaled slowly, and the air around them warmed. Next to them the crowd leaned away for a moment, startled by the studden heat, and then back in, drawn by the warmth. Sokka flashed him a grateful smile and moved closer, so that their arms were touching at the elbows.

The vendor handed him a paper-wrapped package. He tore a corner off his fry bread and offered it to Sokka, then tore off a piece for himself. He smiled as they turned down toward the harbor. Sokka had mentioned that there would be dancing, and then had laughed and promised not to force him to learn after he’d seen the look on Zuko’s face. Sokka abandoned his empty bowl at one of the stalls, and they walked toward the other end of the pier instead, where the music was loudest. 

The crowds were getting more packed the closer they got to the musicians, and Sokka shifted closer. He moved over toward Zuko to skirt around a mother with her kids, and then hooked his arm through Zuko’s to steer him around a pair of men playing a duet on a bowed zither and a wooden frame drum, and then he just… didn’t let go. They carried on like that, arm in arm, picking pieces off Zuko’s fry bread and pausing every now and then to listen to the performers.

 _This could almost be a date_ , Zuko thought. The word slipped into his mind without permission and dug its hooks in. He almost laughed at himself, because… that was… that was just ridiculous, and...

And Sokka…

Wait a minute.

Zuko nearly choked on a piece of bread. Suddenly, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. Sokka, blessedly, didn’t seem to notice, steering them along back the way they’d gone that first time in the marketplace, toward a less crowded recess by the canals. His heart was beating faster, but now that the idea was in his head he couldn’t let it go. 

Zuko tried to glance at him subtly. It was… hard to tell. Sokka was friendly to everyone, he’d learned that right away. Maybe he was reading him wrong.

Sokka turned then, and caught him staring. Zuko startled and almost turned away, but no, that would just look suspicious. He smiled at him, instead, feeling flush and hoping Sokka would mistake it for the cold. Sokka smiled back, and Zuko had to squash down the treacherous fluttering in his chest. Then Sokka reached down to take his hand, and any hopes of playing it off evaporated. 

Sokka shivered slightly, and Zuko realized that he was—warm, too warm, not just flustered-embarrassed warm, and the thought only made him flush deeper. He took a breath and tried to calm the heat coiling tightly in his chest, in and out, as Sokka tugged him further down the boardwalk. 

A hand tapped Zuko’s shoulder, and he jumped. When he turned around it was just Yue, smiling a bit apologetically for starling him. Katara had already caught Sokka’s attention, giving him a look that was more eyebrows than anything, and which Sokka was returning with equal enthusiasm. He stabbed a finger at her and shot her a warning look—for what, Zuko didn’t know—and hissed something too quiet to hear over the sound of the music, which made her burst out laughing. She batted her eyelashes at him, and turned to smile at Zuko in a way that felt oddly loaded, for how sweet it was.

Yue was picking at one of the spun sugar confections from the marketplace. Katara had a bowl of sweets of her own, little light green jellies that wiggled with every motion, like they were full of syrup. 

Katara beamed at him and offered him her bowl. 

“What’s this?” Zuko asked. He poked the edge of one of the jellies and it jiggled merrily.

“It’s like candy,” Katara said brightly. “Give it a try.”

Zuko hesitated, then shrugged. He popped it into his mouth and bit down. It was—strange, a weird texture that gushed in his mouth, and then—

Oh, oh, it was _sour_ , worse than an unripe gooselemon, and the sharp acidic taste flooded his mouth and burned his tongue. Zuko nearly spit it out before he remembered that that would be rude. He settled for making a truly undignified face, instead, eye prickling with tears until the flavor passed. 

Sokka chuckled while Katara patted him consolingly on the shoulder. 

Zuko smacked his tongue, squinted at her. “Was that for the—?”

“The fire flakes, yeah, we’re even,” Katara said happily, and then popped one of the candies into her mouth. Zuko couldn’t help it, he laughed, and then shoved the rest of his fry bread in his mouth to wash the taste out.

They’d stopped in the middle of the walkway, and people were beginning to go around them. Yue shooed them off to the side before they could earn any more annoyed looks. She gestured back down the pier. 

“Are you going to dance?” Yue asked.

“Definitely not,” Zuko said immediately, so quickly that it made her laugh. 

“It’s part of our culture,” she tried. 

“I’m sure there are some very nice books on the subject,” Zuko agreed. 

“He won’t crack, Yue, I’ve already tried,” Sokka said. Yue sighed, leaning back on her heels with a knowing look. 

“Well, if _you_ couldn’t convince him…” she said. Zuko felt himself flushing, just a little, because… what was that supposed to mean? 

“Let’s watch one of the performers,” Katara said. “They usually have musicians, at least. Last year they had some weapons demonstrations? That could be fun, or...”

A crowd was gathering near the water. Zuko eyed them curiously as they approached. 

Katara sucked in a breath and whirled on Sokka, fixing him with an enormous, wide-eyed stare. A silent conversation passed between them, which ended in Sokka rolling his eyes and sighing, exasperated.

“What?” Zuko asked. Sokka pointed through the crowd, and Zuko could just make out the top of a familiar bald head. 

“Pakku’s students are doing exhibition matches,” Sokka said. He shook his head. “He’s not going to let you, Katara.”

“He’s welcome to try to stop me,” she said, sounding very much like she hoped he would try. “Yue?”

Yue shrugged. From the indulgent smile on her face, she wasn’t surprised by this turn of events. Zuko wondered how many times Katara had tried to challenge Pakku’s students before—if she’d ever convinced any of them, and if she’d ever won. 

Katara hooked Yue’s elbow and steered her into the crowd. Sokka watched her go for a moment, sighed overdramatically, and shook his head at them. 

“Do you want to go watch?” Zuko asked. 

“Every time I watch Katara waterbend, I always end up wet,” Sokka said. “It’s way too cold to be wet.”

Sokka rubbed his arms, to emphasize the point. Zuko turned back toward the waterbenders for a moment. He watched Katara and Yue weave into the crowd and disappear. When he glanced back Sokka’s attention had already wandered away, looking for where to go next. 

He was leaning into Zuko’s space. His heart was thumping, and Sokka was standing so close, that had to… maybe it was just friendly closeness, or maybe it was just because Zuko was warm, but maybe...

“If you...” Zuko started. Sokka turned toward him, patiently waiting for him to finish the thought. “If you’re cold, we could go inside.”

“Yeah?” Sokka smiled at him, a bit lopsided. “Had enough culture for one night?”

The night was still young. Zuko should probably stay. His role in the Northern Water Tribe was foremost to learn about their culture. He wasn’t going to learn anything else if he left the festival early, but… 

“If I miss anything important, you’ll have to fill me in,” Zuko said, and the bright smile that earned him was worth it.

The palace halls were quiet, with most of the staff out enjoying the festival. The air was chilly without anyone to stoke the fires, so that even inside he was grateful to be wearing Sokka’s coat.

Zuko’s rooms weren’t much warmer than the hall. He crouched in front of the fireplace to light it. At some point during the day, a servant had come through and swept out the ash and charcoal remnants of the fire from the night before, replacing the burnt-out wood with fresh kindling. Zuko lit the fire with two fingers, and coaxed it to life with a few steady breaths. 

Behind him, Sokka threw the door to the balcony open, and Zuko rolled his eyes when the wind that swept through nearly snuffed the fire back out. 

“If you’re cold, then we should sit inside,” Zuko said. Sokka shivered with the wind, but he still grinned and shook his head.

“Then we can’t hear the music!” he said, sitting down in the doorway. He stretched his legs out in front of him, poked his feet through the slats in the balcony railing, and then patted the ground beside him. “That’s what the fire is for, anyway.”

Zuko sat down beside him, and let the fire climb a little higher, until he could feel the heat on his back. 

Sokka shifted closer, anyway. Zuko always ran warm, but especially when he was using his breath of fire, so he moved over, too, until their arms were brushing. He wasn’t sure if Sokka would be able to feel it through their coats, anyway, but—he must have, because he leaned into the touch just slightly.

Zuko kept his gaze fixed on the grounds beneath them. He couldn’t actually see anything of the festival from here, only the shiny white rooftops of the city and beyond that, the wide black expanse of the ocean. Sokka was right, though, he could just make out the faint strains of music floating over from the festival. Sokka shot him an amused look.

“I think I’m a bad influence on you,” Sokka said, breaking the silence. 

“What?” Zuko asked. 

“This is the second time I’ve gotten you to play hooky,” Sokka said. “And last time, I practically had to drag you outside. This time you asked _me_. I call that progress.”

“You probably shouldn’t be encouraging me,” Zuko said. 

His friends were going to have to deal with the consequences tomorrow, when Zuko interrogated them for everything he could possibly need to know about the festival to fill his next letter to his father. His father definitely wouldn’t approve of Zuko asking them to do the work for him, but something about Sokka, and Katara and Yue, made him reckless. 

“I make no promises. And… well, I know your job is important to you, so, for the record,” Sokka said. “I’m glad you’ve lightened up a bit.” 

“A bit,” Zuko agreed. 

He’d been _lightening up_ quite a lot, lately, if he was honest with himself. That kind of behavior would… never be tolerated in the Fire Palace. Zuko knew he should be more careful, and not make a habit of it. 

“It’ll be strange, going back,” Zuko murmured, lost in the train of his own thoughts. _If he went back_ , he immediately thought, with a little prickle of anxiety. He didn’t dare voice the thought, uncertain, because… it was hard to tell sometimes, which outcome made him more nervous.

It scared him sometimes, how unsure he was. He didn’t used to be. He didn’t know what was wrong with him now that he was so close to going home...

“Can I ask you something?” Sokka asked. “I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to answer.”

The courtyard beneath Zuko’s balcony was dark now, but the moon was full tonight. The heavy fog and clouds spoke of snow soon. The night felt strangely muted, silent around them, like they were the only two people in the kingdom.

“Go ahead,” Zuko said.

“Do you ever get lonely?” Sokka asked. His face was etched with soft concern, and something else harder to describe, maybe wistful and a bit hopeful. “I mean. I had Katara when I first got here, but you were all alone.”

“No. I’m not lonely. I mean, you’re... I’m...” Zuko said. _I’m not alone_ , he thought to say, but that felt… almost too honest. There was no other way for Sokka to interpret that, and though Zuko’s mouth worked silently he couldn’t force himself to say the words. Zuko huffed a quiet laugh at himself. He shook his head, feeling exposed and a little embarrassed, and tried to turn his gaze back down toward the courtyard, the harbor, the sea— 

Sokka’s hand brushed his, the barest whisper of a touch, and Zuko jumped like he’d been burned. He glanced back up at his face. Sokka was watching him, almost expectantly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

“You know what I mean,” Zuko said, a little desperately. 

“Yeah. I think I do,” Sokka said, softly. The look on his face was too much, and for a moment Zuko squeezed his eyes shut just to breathe. “Listen, if—tell me if I have the wrong idea, here, but…” 

Sokka hesitated, and then he reached out, touching Zuko’s jaw with his thumb, his fingers a gentle pressure against his neck. Zuko’s breath caught. His pulse jumped.

Zuko’s eyes snapped up to meet Sokka’s, the hope he’d been carrying with him since the festival clawing its way back to the surface. It was the only time Zuko could remember him looking anything but confident, like it wasn’t the most obvious thing in the world, what Zuko wanted. This, at least, was easy. Terrifying, but easy.

Zuko grabbed his hand, fitting their fingers together. Sokka’s answering smile felt like it lit up every sleeping corner of him. Zuko’s nerves were already buzzing at the barest touch, fire and lightning as Sokka leaned in. It was already too much, Sokka’s touch was so gentle and his smile was so warm but—Zuko met his gaze and felt like he was pinned in place, like he was going to burn up with wanting. 

Sokka paused, barely an inch away. It was that far, and no further. Zuko could see every freckle of brown in his bright blue eyes, could feel each hot breath brush across his lips.

Zuko’s breath hitched, and—

Sokka was smirking at him, altogether too pleased with himself.

“I haven’t even done anything yet,” Sokka teased. 

Zuko flushed, at his reaction, at the teasing. His heart was fluttering, rabbit-deer-quick, but—it wasn’t bad. It wasn’t like the usual anxiety, or the embarrassment of doing something not-quite-right. Sokka smiled at him, and teased him, and the feeling that flushed through his chest was just warm. 

And he still hadn’t kissed him, stopped just inches away, even though Zuko wanted him to. Even though Zuko was pretty sure Sokka wanted to, too. 

“Honestly, you’re so nervous,” Sokka prodded, with that little smile still tugging at his lips. “You’re always so tense. Just relax a little, will you? Though I’ve gotta say, you’re so pretty when you blush like—”

Before Sokka could get another word in, Zuko leaned in and kissed him. His lips were cool, cheeks wind-bitten from sitting on the balcony. His stomach couldn’t decide between firecrackers and butterflies, as Sokka immediately kissed him back. 

Sokka’s hands were hovering near his arms, not quite touching, and the thought struck through him with a giddy little thrill that he… _Sokka was nervous too_. 

Sokka gasped against his lips, and Zuko pulled back, searching his face. They were so close, Zuko’s hand resting on Sokka’s knee. Sokka’s fingers curled around the tail of his sleeve. Sokka’s eyes fluttered open as he pulled away, and Zuko watched him for his reaction, his own pulse thumping in his throat. The surprise on Sokka’s face melted quickly into a grin. Zuko’s stomach flipped as Sokka tugged him forward for another kiss. 

Sokka’s hand was cupping his arm, thumb rubbing small circles across his wrist. Each soft brush sent another shiver straight to the core of him. The tilt of his lips burned through him. Sokka was kissing him, and he was smiling. Zuko could forget everything but this moment, if the universe let him, and he wouldn’t want for anything else.

He wanted to touch, so he did, fingers brushing against the short hairs at the back of Sokka’s head. Sokka made an approving sound in his throat, hands tightening on the front of Zuko’s coat and dragging him in closer, until Zuko was leaning over into his lap. The furs at Sokka’s collar brushed soft against his wrists as he wrapped his hands around his back.

Down below them the music had stopped, the last notes carried off on the wind. Sokka smiled against his lips, and his heart fluttered as he pushed forward to deepen the kiss, palm flat on Zuko’s chest. 

A gentle warmth settled between his ribs, like sunlight pressing out through the cracks in him. He tilted his face down toward Sokka’s shoulder and huffed, still a bit breathless, unsure whether he wanted to laugh at himself or sigh or beg Sokka to kiss him again.

“Was... that okay?” Zuko asked instead, fighting the nervous fluttering in his chest. 

Sokka’s skin was cool beneath his hands. All the earlier tension, the nervousness, had left him, leaning heavy and soft into each other. His fingers were graceless, holding whatever parts of him he could reach.

“Yeah, yes,” Sokka said quickly. “More than okay.”

The look on Sokka’s face prickled through him with a wave of heat, and Zuko turned his face down again, flushed. On impulse he pressed a dry kiss against Sokka’s neck, just below his ear, and Sokka made such a soft and startled sound that he couldn’t help but lean back up and kiss him again—

The door banged open. Zuko and Sokka both flew apart, breathless and startled by the sound. His heart was already beating quickly, but now it was hammering in his throat. They exchanged one wordless, flustered glance before the sound of urgent voices reached them.

“Hello?” a voice called from inside.

“Uh, here,” Sokka called back, voice just a bit unsteady. His cheeks were faintly flushed, and Zuko felt a little sympathetic thrill in his chest as Sokka flashed him an embarrassed smile. He stood and offered Zuko a hand up, and swept his fingers quickly down the front of Zuko’s coat, straightening the worst of the wrinkles out before he turned to go inside.

Zuko moved to follow him, but froze as soon as he reached the entryway. He’d expected Katara and Yue, but instead was met with the sight of several strangers in the doorway, faces severe in a way that looked so unnatural on the usually amicable water tribesman that it sent a shock of anxiety through him. Sokka stopped, too, the easy smile on his face slipping away to something much more uncertain. 

One of the men saw them. He tensed, gaze flicking between the two of them quickly, and Zuko fell very still. The man stared at him silently for one long moment, expression unreadable. He shifted further into the room with a deliberate slowness. 

“Prince Sokka, please come with us,” he said, without taking his eyes off Zuko.

“What? Why?” Sokka asked. Zuko hazarded a glance at Sokka, but any of the embarrassment he’d shown earlier was gone. He looked defensive, as confused by the other warriors’ presence as Zuko was. 

“Prince Sokka,” he repeated, and didn’t explain himself. Sokka glanced helplessly at the other men, back to Zuko, as though looking for some kind of explanation. None of them volunteered one. Every one of them was standing with their hands loose at their sides but a tension in their frames, following Zuko with their eyes. 

If his heart was hammering before, the man’s expression was enough to choke him. Zuko tucked his hands into his sleeves, clenching his fists tightly together. Even that small motion seemed to make them wary. Zuko tried to breathe, and keep his own expression carefully level, but already his thoughts were racing with the sudden, terrifying feeling that he was missing something important, something dangerous. Had he done something wrong, or—or maybe, had they found out about him, and Sokka, and—and didn’t approve, or...

“Is… everything okay?” Zuko asked, amazed at how level he managed to keep his voice, when he could hardly hear his own thoughts over the pounding of his heart, the roar of blood in his ears. 

“You’re to wait here, Prince Zuko,” he said. Sokka opened his mouth as though to argue, and the man held out a hand to stop him. Though his tone was polite, there was a hard edge to his expression that clearly said it was not a request. 

Zuko looked to Sokka, desperate for—something, an explanation, or even just a comforting look.

Sokka looked as lost as he was, mouth working soundlessly on some argument he was unable to voice. 

“ _Prince Sokka_ ,” the man said again, much sharper this time. “Now.”

“I should…” Sokka murmured to him, and Zuko just nodded wordlessly, not trusting his voice.

They closed the door behind them, boots shuffling in the hallway. He could hear Sokka arguing on the other side of the door.

“Don’t—why are you—” he said. The muffled sound of Sokka biting off a protest, and being sharply rebuked, came through the door moments later.

After another beat of silence, the latch clicked. 

Zuko’s heart leapt in his throat, and he reached almost immediately for the knob. It rattled quietly but didn’t turn. They’d locked him inside. 

He backed away from the door, dread clawing its way up his throat. They’d locked him inside. None of this made sense, because—he hadn’t done anything. He’d done his job. 

He’d been… Sokka had _told_ him that he could relax, and he’d believed him. Zuko pressed his hand to his chest and tried to will his heartbeat to calm down. There had to be… something, some explanation. 

Why would they lock him inside?

(So he couldn’t escape when they—)

What had he done?

(Nothing, he’d done nothing, Sokka had said it would be _fine_ so why—)

His fingers were numb, clutching the front of his coat as though to hold himself together. He paced back, away from the door and whatever waited on the other side of it. The heat from the hearth almost startled him, the fire inside roaring, shuddering unhealthily with each breath. A strangled sound escaped him as he tried to force it down, squashing the flames to nothing but smoldering coals. It was grounding, and when Zuko took another shaky breath the coals glowed only faintly in response. 

The silence of the grounds below was terrifying, all the noise of the festivities choked off into silence. He didn’t know what was happening, but panicking wouldn’t help him. He needed to calm down. He needed—fresh air, maybe, and to clear his head…

Zuko moved back to the balcony. The place where they’d been sitting had already gone cold in their absence. With the fire in the hearth snuffed out, the balcony looked dark, uninviting.

The lights on the pier were doused, so that he could hardly make out the shapes of the city against the darkness of the bay. Had it really gotten so late that the festival was already over? He’d been focused on Sokka, he hadn’t been paying attention to anything else, but it felt far too early for that. The eerie stillness of the pier set him on edge as he raked his gaze over it. He was too far away to see clearly in the dark, but he thought he could see the faintest flicker of movement in the darkened streets. 

The snow was falling more steadily now. It looked strangely dark against the doused fires of the streets below. Catching only the light of the full moon, it looked almost… almost…

Zuko reached out one ungloved hand and lit a flame in his palm. 

In the weak light of the fire, the snow drifted down to the city below, heavy flakes turned black with soot.

Zuko stood on the balcony, staring out at the black snow for what felt like hours, waiting for them to come for him.

By the time he heard the key turn in the lock, he felt as tense as a coiled spring, ready to fly apart in moments. Sokka was nowhere in sight, but the rest of the men had returned. They were much less subtle this time, hands clearly hovering near their weapons—a warning more than a threat. 

Zuko forced his shoulders back, kept his arms at his side where he wanted to curl them into his sleeves. There was really only one explanation for what he’d seen on the balcony, but it only summoned more questions in him.

(If the Fire Nation was here peacefully, they wouldn’t have locked him in his room.)

Zuko joined the man in the hall, and only just managed to avoid flinching when his hand closed around his arm to steer him forward. The walk to the meeting hall was familiar by now, but anxiety rose like bile in his throat with each step through the deafening silence of the palace. 

Zuko glanced around the meeting hall, scanning the people in the room, hoping to see Sokka, or Yue. Disappointed, he turned his gaze to the chief, instead. 

Chief Arnook was watching him, his face as perfectly calm as a theater mask, gaze uncharacteristically cold.

“Chief Arnook,” Zuko said in greeting. Forcing the words past the lump in his throat felt impossible, and anything else he might have said, any questions or excuses, died on his lips at the look the chief gave him.

The man at Zuko’s shoulder was standing far too close, but he’d let go of him when he steered him inside. Zuko still felt suffocated under the weight of their stares. The room was far too cold, or maybe it was just Zuko, fingers numb, chest too tight, as he waited for the chief to say something. 

He expected him to demand an explanation, to force Zuko to make excuses when he knew no more than the rest of them. Instead the corner of his mouth turned down, just slightly. His voice was soft when he spoke. 

“Fire Lord Azulon has died,” Chief Arnook said.

Zuko stared at him. Blinked. The chief said nothing else, waiting for Zuko to respond. 

His grandfather—?

In an instant, all the confusion and uncertainty—at the warrior’s reactions, at the darkened pier, at the black snow—swept out of him. 

The Fire Lord was dead. Uncle Iroh would be, _should be_ , Fire Lord now. His claim to the throne was indisputable, as the crown prince, and as Azulon’s favored son. Even if the Fire Lord was dead, the Fire Nation was sure to back his uncle. Only...

Zuko sucked in a breath.

“My father is here,” he said.

Chief Arnook stared at him, expression grim and strangely knowing. 

“Prince Zuko,” the chief said, “You understand why I find it concerning that you know that?”

“I...” Zuko froze, heart leaping in his throat. “No, I—I didn’t know he was going to do this.”

Just—who else could it be? His uncle would never do something like this. Uncle had favored peace for longer than his grandfather, had pushed for it ever since the failed siege of Ba Sing Se. There was… no way his uncle knew that his father was here. He would have stopped him. 

The timing was too convenient, with his grandfather dead, the Fire Palace in turmoil. For one fleeting moment he recalled the look on his father’s face the night his mother disappeared, and his stomach rolled at the thought of what else his father might do.

Did the chief suspect that he’d known this was going to happen? Did he think Zuko helped _plan_ this? The thought was absurd. Zuko was… no one, just a cultural liaison, a prince only in name. He never even spoke to his father, besides…

…besides the letters Zuko had been sending him. The letters about the city’s walls, the city’s waterbenders, their culture and their weapons and—

“Oh,” Zuko said. He was so _stupid_. How long had his father been planning this, with Zuko none the wiser, obediently sending him intelligence on the city, it’s inhabitants, and the surrounding… ah.

Zuko didn’t know how to ask. They shouldn’t tell him, anyway, but he had to know. “Did he..” He stopped, tried again, “Is it just the ships?”

“Prince Zuko, if you know something, you need to tell me, now,” Chief Arnook said. 

“I don’t know anything,” Zuko said. He could tell from the chief’s expression that he didn’t believe him. “I just...” 

He’d been writing to his father, and in his letters he’d mentioned where they’d taken him hunting, and where they’d gone when they were supposed to be ice fishing. It would be difficult to sneak up on the city from that side, but that was only if someone was looking, and why would they be, with Fire Nation ships attacking the harbor and no reason to suspect an enemy force coming overland. 

“The coastal plains,” Zuko said. “I mentioned it… in my letters,” The chief’s frown deepened, “And I mentioned it was treacherous, but we entered the city from that side, and...” 

Zuko had told his father plenty. He doubted the safety of his men would be enough to deter him, if he thought they could reach the city overland, and get inside that way. 

Chief Arnook’s gaze cut over to one of his men. The warrior left without a word. 

Zuko twisted the sleeve of his coat in his fingers. The man next to him shifted uncomfortably, intently watching his hands. 

“Has my father...” Zuko cut himself off, fear and shame rolling in his stomach. He already knew the answer, he just, maybe he’d... “Has he contacted you? About… me?”

Chief Arnook’s face remained unreadably still, but he tilted his head, just barely, like he was trying to work something out. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. 

“We sent a messenger,” he said. “There’s been no reply.” He almost sounded sorry to say it, but—no, if he was sorry, it was only because the chance for negotiation had passed. Zuko nodded woodenly, because the chief looked like he expected a response.

He wasn’t surprised to hear it, but it stung anyway, one more barb in a familiar wound. 

“Prince Zuko, you’ll return to your rooms,” Chief Arnook said. “I trust you won’t cause us any trouble.”

“I—no,” he said, because what else could he do? “Of course not.”

Zuko paced the length of his room, restless, and tried not to glance out the windows. He couldn’t see anything but rooftops and the distant ocean from here, but it was becoming more and more difficult to convince himself that he was imagining the way the clouds were growing thicker, the sky growing steadily more orange, even in the moonlight.

The thing Zuko didn’t understand was _why_? If his grandfather was dead, then Uncle would be the Fire Lord. Zuko hadn’t been home in a long time, but he knew his uncle. He would never have allowed this to happen, he just _wouldn’t_ , which meant that his father must have come without his uncle knowing, seizing on the confusion surrounding his grandfather’s death. 

But it was just—stupid. It was _treason_ , undeniably, and yet his father hadn’t just come, he’s come _in force_ , with ships and troops all loyal to him, and seemingly willing to defy the will of the Fire Lord—or, willing to cast their lot with his father. 

(His father had always wanted to be Fire Lord.)

Zuko gave up resisting the urge to pace. He could feel the fire shrinking and swelling with his breaths, but his thoughts were too frazzled to make an attempt at controlling himself. 

Uncle was the clear choice, in times of peace. The only way that his father could possibly legitimize his own claim to the throne would be in times of war, where his temperament might be more suited to ruling than Uncle’s, and his father could twist his surrender at Ba Sing Se into proof of his weakness. 

If there was war, his father could claim that it was Agni’s will for him to rule, and challenge his uncle, and maybe... 

But attacking Agna Qel’a wasn’t enough for a war. It was just treason. It would harm their treaties, it would hurt the Water Tribe, but his father had no right to do this. His uncle was a good man, and… and the world was _tired_ of war, there was no way they’d go so easily back. 

(His father wasn’t stupid.)

For the war to start again… the balance of the world would need to be drastically harmed, more than one petty conflict between men could manage, more than even a battle for the Northern Water Tribe capital. There was too much history to learn from, too much misery far too recently, to burn in one night. 

His father wasn’t stupid. He _had_ to know that, so what could he possibly be doing here in the North—

Zuko cast his gaze out the window, toward the inky black stretch of the sea and the shadow of the ships against the horizon. He turned his gaze up toward the black snow, and the soft white light of the full moon.

A chill swept down his spine, through the pit of his stomach, and settled in with a cold dread.

His father was going to—

_And Zuko had told him how._

He stood frozen at the balcony door, chest so tight he could hardly breathe. 

The hallway beyond his locked door was quiet. Zuko had no way to know whether there would be men guarding the door—there had to be, they certainly wouldn’t trust him without. He moved, a half-aborted motion, thinking to knock, to call to them, but—if they didn’t trust him, if it took too long to explain, then it might be too late.

(They’d locked him inside, they thought he’d helped plan this, who could possibly trust him now—)

He cast one last glance back to the locked door.

Then he turned his gaze down to the several story drop into the courtyard below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! The last chapter is close to done, so expect another fast update toward the end of the week :)
> 
> And guys, thank you for all the really nice comments! We really appreciate them :)


	9. Chapter 9

Climbing out the window was a lot easier in the Fire Nation, where the walls were made of wood and stone instead of slick ice, and the wind didn’t buffet his face with snow. He’d done it before, sneaking out of his estate when the claustrophobia of the halls became too much, but never from such a height, and with so much at stake. Zuko managed it anyway, with his hood pulled up against the wind, gloves stuffed into his pocket to free up his hands to melt the slippery handholds into something he could get a better grip on.

Sokka’s room was just around the corner in the hallway. From here, he had to climb up the wall, over the low overhang jutting out over the edge of the roof, and then down again on the other side of the corner, in order to get around the rounded tower separating their windows. 

It was easy enough to get off his own balcony—he just had to jump, and hope that the hand hold he was eyeing was sturdy enough to support him until he could melt himself another to rest his weight on. 

Getting back down from the roof would be harder, because that side of the wall faced the wind, which meant it was slick with the half-frozen sleet blowing off the bay. Zuko paused, anyway, once he’d finally knocked enough of the icicles loose to pull himself onto the roof, even with the chill seeping into his exposed fingers, because—

He could see the shadow of the Fire Nation ships looming beyond the wall. Zuko sucked in a breath as a light flared on one of the decks, white-hot as the fuel caught fire. In the shadow of that distant glow something snapped, and the projectile shot forward, streaking like a meteor toward the wall. Zuko flinched as the distant rumble shook the roof beneath him. He dropped to one knee to steady himself while the shaking passed.

They were really attacking. It was hard to make out their numbers in the dark, but… there was no way they’d breach the city’s walls with so few ships. He could see the damage in the wall already beginning to repair itself in the dying light of the ammunition, as the waterbenders on the front sealed the jagged gaps with sea water drawn out of the bay. 

The ships had to be a distraction. He turned, looking for the distant pinpricks of light in the coastal plains that might signal an approaching army, but there was nothing out there. Was Zuko wrong, and they weren’t planning to enter the city from that side, or had they already gotten close enough for their numbers to be obscured by the wall?

Were they already inside the city?

Zuko shook himself and crouched to swing beneath the overhang. He nearly slipped trying to find a suitable handhold on the wall below, distracted by the periodic flare of the trebuchets launching projectiles toward the wall. He realized he’d picked the wrong side of the wall half-way through climbing down. Sokka’s balcony was on the other side. Zuko tapped on the windowpane, and tried not to think about his stiff fingers, or the sleet-slick handholds, or the distance to the grounds below.

He couldn’t hear through the glass, but he could see a shadow shifting across the floor, drawn by the sound. Sokka appeared in the window, cautiously confused, and then stopped dead to stare at him. 

He dove forward to rip open the latch. 

“What are you _doing_?” he hissed. He threw the window open wider and grabbed Zuko around the arm to steady him. “Are you crazy? It’s a four story drop from here!”

He moved to pull Zuko inside, but then... Sokka’s hand twitched on his forearm. He hesitated for just a moment, as he warred with himself. A flash of uncertainty, wariness, and then suspicion, stole over his face. 

Zuko’s heart pounded. They stared at each other, with Zuko hanging off the windowsill, wearing matching grim expressions.Sokka shouldn’t trust him, even though Zuko needed him to. If he was smart, he wouldn’t let Zuko inside. He would call the warriors who’d taken him away for help.

Sokka grit his teeth and shook his head, his determination winning out. He pulled Zuko through the window and onto solid ground. 

Zuko rested his hands on his knees for a moment, just to catch his breath. The warmth of the room hit him, and a shiver wracked Zuko’s frame. His fingers were freezing, sore from how tightly he’d been clutching the ice wall. He tried to breathe a bit of life into them. 

Sokka grabbed his hands instead, and forced Zuko to look up at him.

“What are you doing?” Sokka repeated, less frantic this time, and much more wary. 

“My door was locked,” Zuko said.

“Yeah, _no shit_ ,” Sokka snapped—too loud, if anyone was out in the hall they’d hear him and know he wasn’t alone—but his grip on Zuko’s hands didn’t waver. The hard edge to his voice made Zuko flinch. Just an hour ago, they had been sitting together on Zuko’s balcony. The thought turned sour in his stomach.

“Sokka,” Zuko said. He forced himself to meet Sokka’s gaze, his excuses bitter on his tongue. “I had no idea that my father was planning to do this. Please believe me.”

“Then _why_ would you tell your dad all of that stuff?” Sokka asked. Zuko stared at him, but he just barreled on, “You were writing to him, weren’t you? This whole time. For—what? Were you spying for him?”

Zuko swallowed. He’d expected Sokka to be angry with him, but he… didn’t look angry, only desperate and confused and a little sad, and that was so much worse. 

“Zuko, after what he—what he _did_ ,” Sokka said. “How could you just help him do this?”

“I _didn’t_ ,” he insisted. But—that wasn’t quite true. He _had_ helped him, even if he hadn’t known, even if he hadn’t meant to. He’d given his father everything he’d asked for and more. Zuko tried again. “I didn’t think…” 

Zuko swallowed the rest of the excuse before he could finish it, stomach twisting into knots. 

That was just it though, wasn’t it? He didn’t _think_. He’d just been doing what he was told, and he hadn’t even questioned it, or considered anything beyond his own selfish desire to go home. He should have known something was wrong the moment his father replied to him.

But… he _had_ known, or at least, some part of him had. He’d known that his father wouldn’t write him under normal circumstances, and he’d ignored his suspicion, because he wanted so desperately to have earned that letter. He’d wanted for once to have done something right. 

He’d been— _so stupid_ , thinking his father’s letter was a good sign, as though he could ever actually please him, _so naive_ , like always.

He shook his head. This was his fault, but he could still make things right. 

“I’m going to fix it,” Zuko said. “I just—I need your help.”

“How?” Sokka asked. 

“You have to take me to the Spirit Oasis,” Zuko said. 

Sokka recoiled. “I can’t just—”

“Sokka, _please_ ,” Zuko said. He wanted to shake him, and scream, because he didn’t understand that they needed to go _now_. “My father is here, I know it. In his letter, he asked me about the Spirit Oasis. He’s looking for it, and the harm he could cause if he finds it... I have to stop him.”

Sokka stared at him in disbelief. He shook his head slowly, his grip tightening on Zuko’s before letting go.

“He—how would he even get inside the city? And... the Spirit Oasis is hidden. He won’t even be able to find it,” Sokka said. 

“He’ll find it,” Zuko said, with desperate certainty. Zuko had told him… enough, and if there was any way in the world for his father to get more information once Zuko had told him what he’d wanted to know, he knew his father would send someone to find it. “He may already be there. We’re wasting time, just… please. I’m asking you to trust me.”

“I—” Sokka shook his head again, and pulled away. Zuko’s heart sank. Sokka was… it was too much to ask, after all. He should have known, because Zuko’s mistakes were never so easily forgiven. He didn’t deserve his trust, he hadn’t earned it, and now he’d put Sokka in danger, too, and he had no one to blame but himself—

Sokka blew out a breath. He surged forward and took Zuko’s hand again, and hope seized in his chest so fiercely he could hardly breathe.

“I do,” Sokka said. “I trust you. Okay. Okay, just...”

The lock clicked. Sokka whirled to stare at it, then turned back to Zuko, expression suddenly frantic.

“You need to hide,” Sokka hissed, shoving him back toward the closets. “If they find you in here they’re gonna freak out.” Before he could finish the thought, the door banged open without a knock. They both flinched, and Sokka edged in front of Zuko guiltily, like that might hide him from sight—

“Sokka!” Katara shouted. 

Sokka sagged with relief when he saw his sister, and not one of the warriors here to catch them in the act. Katara stood frozen in the doorway for only a moment before she darted inside and slammed the door behind her, too loud in her haste. 

“What is he—” Katara’s attention flicked from Sokka to Zuko, exasperated and a bit frantic. She lowered her voice and hissed, “ _How did you even get in here_?”

Zuko glanced at her. “I…”

“The window,” Sokka said, which tipped her expression frantic to incredulous, gaze darting to the open window, and the little drift of snow settling wetly on the sill. “Are you here to spring me?”

“No,” she said quickly. “Yes. I’m just—Chief Arnook wouldn’t tell me anything. Zuko, _what_ is going on? They sent us all back inside when they saw the… the snow...” 

She stumbled on the words, or maybe the memory. Zuko swallowed past the discomfort in his throat, unwilling to dwell on it, not now, when they didn’t have the time to waste. 

“Where’s Yue?” Sokka asked, ignoring her question.

“She went with Chief Arnook,” Katara said. “She’s probably in there _vouching for you_ , Zuko, while you’re out here climbing around breaking into my brother’s room!”

Zuko winced. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It was important. I just… there’s no time to… We need to hurry. Sokka?”

His father could be anywhere right now—inside the city, the palace, the Spirit Oasis itself—and the longer they waited the more likely they’d be too late.

“All right, come on,” Sokka said. He paused and yanked on his coat, then grabbed his boomerang and gloves from the nightstand.

“You can’t! Do you have any idea what’s happening out there?” Katara asked. “Where are you going?”

“The Spirit Oasis,” Sokka said. Katara whipped around to stare at him.

“Sokka,” Katara said, “This is—”

“Just—” Sokka scrubbed a hand over his face. “ _I know_ , okay? Just…” He shooed her back out into the hallway, and then grabbed Zuko by the sleeve and tugged him along. “We’ll explain on the way.”

Katara frowned, but didn’t protest, willing to let him fill them both in on what Chief Arnook had said, and what his father was going to do. Zuko turned, once they’d escaped the guest wing to a more secluded hallway. He pressed a hand to Sokka’s chest to stop him.

“You don’t have to come with me,” Zuko said. “You and Katara can go find Yue. Just tell me where to go.”

“No way. We’re coming with you,” Sokka said firmly, no room for argument. 

“You have no idea what you’re walking into. My father is dangerous,” Zuko said. 

“So am I,” Katara said. 

Zuko scrubbed a hand over his face. They didn’t understand. How could they? Even if Sokka knew the full story, he didn’t _know_ the way Zuko did. He hadn’t learned from experience. 

“Please just,” he said. “Please promise me you won’t try to fight him. You _have_ to understand, I can’t—” Zuko cut himself off, because his voice was getting dangerously unsteady. He clenched his fingers in the front of Sokka’s coat, white knuckled, unsure anymore whether it was to keep Sokka there or keep himself from falling apart.

“Hey,” Sokka said. “It’s... I promise, okay? I’ll keep my boomerang to myself.”

Zuko nodded, then looked for Katara’s confirmation. She didn’t know the story, but her expression was grim if a little uncertain as she nodded too. 

As satisfied as he could be, they carried on, sneaking through the near deserted corridors toward the palace entrance. According to Sokka, they needed to exit the palace and skirt around the inner canals to head deep within Agna Qel’a’s walls. Zuko eyed the corridor leading to Chief Arnook’s meeting hall nervously as they passed, but no one came to stop them, even when they broke out into the open air of the courtyard. 

The city’s waterbenders were likely gathering at the sea, defending against the Fire Nation ships attacking the bay. Zuko hoped that Chief Arnook had listened, and sent men to the other side of the wall, too. They’d have to cross the city to know for sure, but Sokka was already dragging him in the other direction. 

The streets were deathly still, but he could hear faint cries of alarm carried over the wind. The impact of another missle shook the ground when they reached the palace stairs, raining loose snow and icicles down them. Katara swept them aside with a flick of her wrist as they rode the tremors out.

In the distance, a fire flared bright enough to cast the courtyard into an uncanny daylight, and then snuffed out. They exchanged grim looks and hurried on, through the courtyard and out toward the canals. The artificially widened streets looked strange now, entirely empty of people, and slowly darkening with the soot-blackened snowfall. 

A strange light caught the water as they crossed by the canal. Zuko’s body froze before his mind registered why, heart leaping, heat pooling into his fingertips on instinct alone. He grabbed Sokka’s shoulder and shoved him backwards, slid forward in front of Katara and toward the water’s edge.

The color came next, dazzlingly blue, and his breath caught in his throat as he threw up his hands. 

A streak of flame flew from his fingers, lighting up the waters of the canal in a flash of steam and heat. The air warped around them as the heat from Zuko’s flames met the blue fire flashing across the water, colliding so fast and bright that it dazzled him, plunging them into an oppressive dark. 

Katara reacted almost immediately, before Zuko could even try to blink the spots away. She swept forward, bringing both hands together, and ripped a wave of snow and ice from the ground, blocking the path between them and—

“It’s my sister,” Zuko said. “She’s… dangerous.”

“I’m sensing a pattern in your family,” Sokka said, hand hovering tense over his boomerang. 

The ice shattered, releasing a shrieking cloud of steam, and the two halves splashed into the canal. Azula flicked a stray hair from her face, flames dancing across her fingertips, heedless of the heat. She stepped forward into a firebender’s stance. 

Katara tensed, ready. Sokka moved to wield his boomerang, and Zuko snatched his wrist. 

“Wait,” Zuko said. He turned back to his sister, “Azula, Stop!”

She stopped, and Zuko flinched with how suddenly still she went. He hadn’t—he hadn’t expected her to _listen_ , and the fact that she had sent a twist of anxiety through him. Azula eyed him curiously, like a pygmy puma toying with a sparrow-mouse. She broke into a grin, entirely too unnatural, as her gaze flicked between him and the streets beyond their shoulders, back the way they’d come.

“Oh, please, Zuzu. You know you don’t stand a chance of capturing the palace yourself,” she said. 

“I’m not—Azula, I’m not capturing anything!” he said. “This is crazy. You can’t just attack the Northern Water Tribe. Uncle—”

“What’s he got to do with this?” she asked. “He’s an old fool, and the rest of the nation will see that soon enough. It’s Father’s opinion you should be worrying about. He’s the one who will be Fire Lord.”

“No. He won’t,” Zuko said.

She stared at him for a moment, unblinking. An incredulous smile stretched slowly across her face. 

“Oh, my. You really have taken your duties seriously, haven’t you?” she asked. She laughed, a cruel and brittle thing. “Why am I surprised? Father should never have trusted you.”

Her barbs settled under his ribs, as they always did, but they had softer edges now. He didn’t care what she thought, because she was _wrong_ , for once she was wrong and she was too delusional to see it.

“He didn’t trust you, either, did he?” Zuko asked. “He’s here. He could have just sent you, but he came here himself.”

“I have my mission, and he has his—”

“He doesn’t trust you, Azula! He doesn’t _care_. He never will!” Zuko shouted. He was suddenly desperate for her to just _listen_ to him, “That’s who he _is_ , he—”

Azula’s face twisted, all raw rage and frustration. Blue fire flashed in her fist, and she thrust violently forward before he could finish the sentence. Katara stepped in front just in time, dragging a wall of water from the canal and flash freezing it into a barrier between them.

She turned then, and fixed Zuko with a determined look. “I’ve got this,” Katara said. 

“ _No_ ,” Zuko said. He wanted to grab her, drag her onward. He wanted her to _run_.

The ice shield immediately lit up, brilliantly blue, and melting fast under the heat of Azula’s flames. Zuko shook his head. “Katara, she’s way too—”

“Zuko,” she said, cutting him off. She leveled him with a steely look, more sure of herself than he’d ever seen her. Her eyes sparked like fire in the glare of Azula’s flames. “I’ve got this.”

“Come on,” Sokka said. He took Zuko by the wrist and urged him to follow, and then they were running, with the dazzling blue light of his sister’s fire dancing on the street behind them. 

The grounds of the spirit oasis were deathly quiet, as though passing through the portal in the wall had transported them into another realm. The snow and ice was gone, replaced with a lush carpet of grass that stretched out into the center of the garden. 

“It’s so warm,” Zuko said, surprise tinging his voice. It was a little unnerving, after exiting the freezing cold only moments before. The air felt unnaturally still, but even the unnatural calm couldn’t settle Zuko. An uneasy tension had been building since they’d left Katara with Azula, since she’d confirmed that his father really was here. Even seeing that the Spirit Oasis was empty wasn’t enough to calm him.

“Yeah, I guess all the spiritual energy… does that?” Sokka said. 

There was a single glassy pool in the center of the oasis. “Is that really connected to the Spirit World?” Zuko asked. 

“No, it’s not like that,” Sokka said. “It may be the most spiritual place in the North Pole, but the Spirit Oasis is still tied to the physical world.”

“But the moon spirit—”

“—is here,” Sokka finished for him, and nodded toward the pool.

Zuko followed Sokka almost in a daze to the edge of the water. Two fish swirled around each other in an endless circle, undisturbed by their presence. Zuko stared at them, with a sinking sort of dread. They were so small. Fragile living things. 

(His father wouldn’t care about that—)

He took a step toward the pond, the grass swishing faintly around his feet. In the middle of the oasis they were so exposed, with nowhere to go, seemingly oblivious to the world around them. 

“Can we… move them? Until after the siege?” Zuko asked. 

Sokka caught him before he could move any closer, but they had to do something. If Azula was already here then his father must be close behind.

“To where? How?” Sokka asked. “It’s not like we can just scoop them up in a bag and carry them—”

One of the fish twitched just barely out of rhythm, and the pair swished away, retreating deeper into the pool. Zuko watched them go, blood freezing in his veins like ice. Beside him, Sokka tensed, hand flexing on Zuko’s elbow where he’d been holding him back from the pond. 

Woodenly, Zuko rolled his shoulder to break his grip. Dread coiled around Zuko’s spine as he turned. His nerves were prickling with some horrible sense of foreboding, like the whole oasis was buzzing with energy even as the fish retreated deeper into the pond’s depths. 

(Too slow, too late, his fault).

Zuko turned, back straight, like he was outside himself. His breath seized in his lungs as the door creaked open. Suddenly he was standing in the Fire Palace, all alone, he was kneeling, he—

“Father,” Zuko said. 

He _wasn’t_ alone. He heard the whisper of Sokka coat as he shifted closer, and then the deafening silence that followed, but he couldn’t bear to tear his eyes away to look at him. He hadn’t seen his father in years, not since he’d been sent away. His father looked older. His eyes were the same. 

Zuko took a hesitant step forward, though to get closer to the entrance or further from the unsettling stillness of the pond, he didn’t know.

“Prince Zuko,” Ozai said, an odd false-civility in his tone, as though they’d crossed one another in the hall. He didn’t so much as hesitate at the portal, striding forward toward the moon bridge with measured steps. Sweat prickled on the back of Zuko’s neck as he spoke. “I will admit I’m surprised to find you here.”

Zuko side-stepped into his path, warily. Ozai stopped.

“Step aside,” he said. The oasis was so warm, but Zuko still felt like he was trying to draw a deep breath in a blizzard, chest too tight, almost burning with the effort. 

“No,” Zuko said. “I won’t.”

Ozai’s eyes narrowed, a frown stealing across his face.

“I won’t let you harm the spirits,” Zuko said. “This is… it’s _insane_. The Fire Nation needs the moon and the ocean spirit as much as the Water Tribes do—”

“The Fire Nation does not need the spirits to rule,” he said, but Zuko wasn’t finished, he barreled on as his father’s expression continued to darken. 

“You can’t threaten the balance of the whole world just to get what you want, Father. It won’t work, no matter what you do, _you will never be the Fire Lord_ —”

“ _Enough_ ,” his father shouted over him. Zuko flinched at the sound, immediately ashamed at the spark of satisfaction that flashed in his father’s eyes. He’d only ever seen him so angry once, and even just the look on his face was enough to send cold dread curling through his stomach. “If you ever hope to regain your honor you will do as I say. You’ve waited for your chance, Zuko. Now here it is. You know why I’m here. Prove your loyalty.”

His father took another step forward. For the briefest moment, the grass beneath his boot began to smoke—not an attack, not even a threat, simply a reminder of who he was, and what he could do. It took all of Zuko’s willpower to stay still. 

“I—” His heart was hammering in his chest, finger’s pricking with ice, but his voice was shockingly steady. “ _No_. I’m not taking orders from you anymore.”

The look on his father’s face was so violently shocked that Zuko almost took a step back. He didn’t. Zuko held his ground as his father’s face twisted into a scowl. 

“You were always a disappointment,” Ozai said. “How easily are your loyalties swayed? This is _exactly_ why you were sent away! To eliminate these petty distractions.”

A gentle hand closed around Zuko’s wrist. Sokka was barely holding on, but Zuko flinched anyway. 

“You don’t have to listen to this,” Sokka said, so quietly it might as well have been just the two of them, like Sokka didn’t care at all that Ozai was standing across the grass. If not for the tension in his voice, Zuko might have believed it. 

Behind him, he could hear the shift of Sokka’s boots on the grass as he came forward. Zuko’s breath caught in his throat. He wanted to scream at him to stop, stay back. His father’s gaze cut to the side, and his mouth twisted down. 

“Who is this?” he demanded. Zuko didn’t freeze—he wanted to, but every instinct screamed not to draw his father’s attention any further. It was too late to lose his nerve. Carefully, Zuko pulled his arm out of Sokka’s grip. “Do you think your sister would have wasted her time making _friends_?”

“I’ve done exactly what I was sent here to do,” Zuko said. “The Northern Water Tribe _wants_ a relationship with the Fire Nation. It’s in the Fire Nation’s best interest to—”

“Enough excuses!” 

Ozai thrust forward with a single, precise spear of flame, and Zuko barely reacted in time. Fire surged over his fingertips, the heat stinging his face as Zuko brought both hands up to block the strike. He threw his arms out to the sides. A cleft of fire swept around the pool, the grass smoldering as the embers caught.

His arms were shaking from the effort of deflecting even that single attack. By his side Sokka swore and flinched back from the heat. Zuko didn’t dare look away.

“My patience is running thin,” his father said, with a terrifying calm. He shifted his stance, his attention flicking briefly to Sokka before steadily meeting Zuko’s gaze. “And these distractions have only made you weak. Let this be the last time I’m forced to teach you.”

Fear seized his throat as he recognized that form.

That was not a firebending stance.

Lightning flashed from his father’s fingertips, almost too fast to see. Zuko didn’t even have to think, because he wasn’t aiming for Zuko. His father’s aim was pointed slightly to the side, and the horrible realization of what he meant to do tore through him like fire. Suddenly he could hear nothing, nothing but the thundering of his heart, his own shuddering gasp. 

Everything else seemed to slow. 

Zuko had learned a hundred lessons in the last few years and every one of them led to this: Zuko wanted more for himself than his father could ever give. His father wasn’t going to take anything else from him. 

Zuko leapt in front of Sokka, arm outstretched, and caught the lightning in his hand. 

He was sure he screamed. His throat felt raw, but he couldn’t hear past the roaring in his ears, the dizzying rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins. He’d never felt power like this. It surged into the empty places inside him. He could feel his inner fire flaring up to meet it, too much, almost too hot to hold. 

His every nerve felt raw. The pain was _excruciating_ , like nothing he’d ever felt before, not even—even when his face—

Zuko gasped, and even that was painful. His chest heaved, and his mouth flooded with a tinny metallic taste. He squeezed his eyes shut against a wave of nausea, because the smell was so familiar, and suddenly Zuko couldn’t breathe—

But when he closed his eyes he saw Katara, and the way she’d moved in the courtyard all those evenings as she practiced her bending. He felt the lightning flow like water through his fingertips, his elbow, his shoulder, down through his core just like Uncle’s letter had said, beneath the heart— _it hurt_ , he couldn’t be doing it right because it hurt _so much_ —

But he didn’t need to be perfect, he never was, he’d never _needed_ to be—if he could just—

Zuko opened his eyes. His father was staring at him now, wide-eyed, and he thought—he’d never seen anything like it. 

His father looked afraid. 

The lightning arced off his fingers. Zuko’s vision flashed suddenly, blindingly white. He didn’t see whether the lighting connected with its target, but he _heard_ it, the awful sound burned into his mind forever. 

His ears were ringing, and Zuko felt his balance slip. He thought he should try to catch himself only after he hit the ground. It didn’t matter, because he couldn’t move, convulsing with an awful body racking pain as the last sparks of lightning jumped from his fingers. 

A hand touched his neck, feather-light. Zuko flinched and opened his eyes again. He’d blacked out for a moment. Sokka looked terrified, but he sagged with relief when Zuko blinked at him. His fingers flexed against the singed edges of Zuko’s collar, but his touch was so light, like he was afraid to hurt him. 

“I ruined your coat,” Zuko said mournfully. Half his sleeve was gone, the edges of the fur still smoldering. Sokka just shook his head, and he looked—furious wasn’t the right word. Frantic, maybe. A little lance of fear shot through him, but… Sokka didn’t look hurt, he looked fine, other than the hitch in his breath as he spoke.

“You idiot,” Sokka said. He sounded hysterical, and Zuko wanted nothing more than to reach out, put a hand on his chest, and force him to breathe. “Why did you do that?” 

Zuko’s arm was an angry red, skin cracked and raw. The tips of his fingers were black where the lighting had arced off them, and every little movement was agony. Zuko’s control was still as terrible as it had always been. He hadn’t been able to keep the energy contained like he was supposed to. He’d felt the way the lightning lanced through him, flowing like a current, but the edges were ragged with power and his nerves felt alight with it even now. 

“He was… going to hurt you,” Zuko said. 

That was—the wrong answer, because Sokka’s face just crumpled. “What about _you_ , Zuko?”

 _He already hurt me,_ he thought, but the words stuck in his throat. He tried to shake his head. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s—no, shh, don’t apologize,” Sokka said. His voice was shaking. Zuko wanted to touch him, to take his hand and comfort him, but his limbs weren’t cooperating. He could hardly twitch his fingers, numb and prickling and raw. “I’m going to—I’ll get Katara, just, _please_ , okay? I’ll get help.”

“Wait,” Zuko said. Somehow he managed to get his fingers to move enough to catch the edge of Sokka’s sleeve. The fabric slipped through his fingers, too weak to grip it. When Zuko tried again Sokka caught his mangled hand and pressed it flat against his chest. 

Zuko tilted his head toward the entrance to the oasis where his father had been standing. Even that little motion set his head swimming, but he had to know. “Is he…?” 

An uncomfortable heat pressed against his eyes, and Zuko quickly blinked it away. He didn’t know why he cared, but he could feel a little hint of panic bubbling in his chest. He couldn’t see him.

Was his father...? 

Had Zuko...? 

Sokka cupped Zuko’s face gently in his palm and turned his head away from the entrance. The wretchedness in his expression was answer enough. 

“Don’t worry about that right now, okay?” he said. “Look at me. You’re—it’s gonna be okay.”

Was it? Zuko blinked slowly and tried to nod, but even that felt like an enormous effort. He blinked again, and the effort of opening his eyes seemed a little too much that time.

“No, stop,” Sokka said, and shook him a little. “Stop doing that.” 

Zuko hummed softly. He didn’t know what he was doing, but he’d… stop, if Sokka wanted him to. Sokka slid his arms underneath his shoulders. His skin was too sensitive, and the touch hurt, but… it felt nice, too, and Zuko was so tired…

The shock of cold water on his back made him open his eyes again. Zuko gasped at the sting against his fingers, his chest, too cold to soothe his wounds. 

Sokka was still talking, and it took him a moment to realize that whatever he was saying wasn’t directed at him. He was wading up to his waist in the pool, dragging Zuko behind him. Zuko felt—his focus was slippery, and his chest rattled wetly, harder and harder to breathe, but Sokka’s voice sounded so urgent, it had to be important. Zuko forced himself to listen. 

“Come _on_ , you stupid fucking fish,” Sokka shouted, and his voice broke around the edge of the words. “Your magic water can heal people, so _heal him_.” The water sloshed around his waist as he dragged him closer. 

Zuko felt a chill sink through him with Sokka’s next words: “Please, _please_ , I’ll do anything—”

“Don’t,” Zuko gasped. His limbs weren’t cooperating, but in the water they felt a little less heavy. He forced his fingers into a fist around Sokka’s collar, tugged him down as hard as he could manage. Sokka hardly swayed. “You can’t say that to a spirit, Sokka. You don’t know what you’re offering.”

Sokka turned his face down to look at him. The moon’s soft glow threaded through the edges of his hair, a gentle halo of light against the shadow of his face. He shook his head, his eyes huge and shining and only for him.

“Of course I do,” Sokka said. “Just—” He shifted closer, the barest whisper of a breath against his lips. “It’s gonna be okay.” 

And then he leaned down to kiss him. 

Zuko gasped against his mouth. His lips felt cool against his overwarm skin, soft and so carefully gentle, like he was terrified he might hurt him. Zuko summoned all his strength to kiss him back, desperate for this one last chance—

And then Sokka was—Sokka was _glowing_ , the light flowing from the roots of his hair down, over his skin, leeching out of him like ink, until it pooled around them at the waist and began to spread. The light spilled down over his cheeks like tears, as his hair faded slowly from white to grey to brown. 

And then the pool was glowing too, the same soft light as the water healer’s hands. Zuko took a gasping breath as the pain washed away. Suddenly he could breathe again, warmth pricked his fingertips, and the relief was so overwhelming that he squeezed his eyes shut. 

Sokka made a small sound against his mouth, and Zuko’s eyes snapped open again. His face was drawn in pain, fingers white knuckled where he gripped Zuko’s coat. Zuko tried to push him away, and Sokka panted against his neck, ashy-skinned, shaking. 

“What—?” Zuko said, but he could hardly get the words past his throat, because the light was fading and the pool was—was tinting steadily dark and red around them. Zuko pressed his hand to Sokka’s chest and felt the wet heat beneath his fingers. His breath hitched.

“No,” Zuko tried to say, but the word came out strangled and wrong. 

Sokka sagged forward toward him, his head lolling against Zuko’s shoulder, and it took all his strength to drag him back to solid ground. 

Zuko pushed back his coat and pressed both hands over the edge of the wound. Sokka’s whole chest was raw and ragged where the scar had been, as though he’d been struck by the blade only moments ago. Panic rose in his throat as he felt the feathering beat of Sokka’s heart beneath his hands. 

“I don’t want it,” Zuko gasped. “Take it back.” 

The pool had gone still again, without the two of them thrashing around in it, and the koi had returned to the same swirling rhythm at the center, the perfect image marred by a faintly reddish tinge.

The shadow of a cloud flickered past the moon and away again. Zuko startled in the darkness and turned toward Sokka’s face, terrified what he would see there, but… he was fine, he was still breathing, soft and shallow but still breathing. A bit of hair had escaped his braids, just as it had that first night in the banquet hall. Zuko sucked in a hushed breath, because… because Sokka’s hair had turned brown, but not completely—

He brushed Sokka’s hair back from his face, stroking that one strand of white hair with his thumb. 

“What does this mean?” he whispered, desperately. The moon spirit didn’t so much as twitch, tracing the same lazy circles in the water, as though the world wasn’t ending right before his eyes. 

He had time. That had to be what the spirits were telling him. The moon spirit was giving him a chance. 

When Sokka told him the story, he’d said that his grandmother was sure that a water healer would be able to help him, if only they could get him to one in time. They didn’t have any waterbenders in the Southern Water Tribe, but they weren’t there anymore, it was the same wound in a different time and place and maybe this time they could _do_ something. 

He hooked his arms under Sokka’s and dragged him further out of the pool, but Zuko was _tired_ and Sokka was so heavy, limp and lifeless and weighed down by his soaked clothes. He looked so still, the bright red spot on his coat gaping wider. 

Zuko’s heart was thundering in his chest. His limbs weren’t cooperating. He felt like the lightning had torn pieces from him, like the spirit water had tied him back together in the wrong order, so clumsy and uncoordinated that he could hardly drag them up onto the grass. 

Katara was out there, facing Azula, and the other water healers had to be out there, too, helping the wounded—someone, there had to be someone—

Somehow, he managed to get to his knees, to slide his arms under Sokka again, to stagger fully to his feet. He didn’t make a sound, not even when Zuko shifted him around to bear up under his weight. His head lolled forward, lifeless—

His head lolled forward, _unconscious_ , dead asleep. Zuko blew out a shaky breath, felt himself warm, felt the anxiety clawing at him shudder back. The silence of the courtyard was deafeningly loud as he forced those first few steps over the low moon bridge toward the exit. 

His father hadn’t moved, still slumped where he’d fallen, faint wisps of smoke curling up through the soft light of the moon. Even a passing glance in his direction made his stomach clench. Zuko squeezed his eyes shut and forced one foot in front of the other. His own coat reeked of damp, burnt fur. He focused on the acrid smell of it clinging to his mouth, his throat, and stumbled through the doorway.

A huge stretch of the walkways had melted, slush pooling inch-thick and running lazily down to drain into the canals. Zuko had finally practiced enough in the courtyard with Katara to learn to keep his footing on the ice during his firebending forms. Now just moving in a straight line was difficult, muscles already screaming from that short walk, twitching mutinously with the aftereffects of the lightning tearing through him. 

Little blue fires burned in the blown out windows of the shops along the walkway. The eerie blue glow mingled with the light of the moon, a trail of breadcrumbs for him to follow. 

Sokka was so heavy, and so still. Zuko counted each shallow breath against his neck, flinched at every cloud to cast a shadow over the moon. He clung to that like a lifeline, with his whole heart, counting each breath and praying, praying for the spirits to give him time. 

The whole downtown marketplace had transformed. Huge puddles of water sat half-frozen back to slush, pooling beneath the smouldering remains of the food vendors’ stalls. Jagged spires of ice ripped up the walkways, forcing Zuko to go around. Blue fires were still burning brightly here, they had to be close but—all around him it was deathly silent, like a moment frozen in time. 

Who had won?

Zuko’s heart was fluttering oddly in his chest—it felt off, too tight, like he was swallowing past a lump in his throat.

A keening wail cut through the thunder of his own heart in his ears. Zuko held his breath, listening, until it came again. It was Azula, but she didn’t sound like herself, she sounded upset, which meant...

“Katara,” Zuko tried to call out. His throat was raw, his voice weak, breathless from the effort. He stumbled on the shattered leg of one of the destroyed stands and nearly fell. “Ka—”

Zuko flinched as a brilliant flare of light streaked through the bay, face turned down on instinct, half-numb fingers flexing on the fur of Sokka’s coat. The shattered glass of the wreckage chittered and shook loose, raining bell-like on the frozen walkway in time with the distant whoosh of air. Zuko turned, half-dazed, and tried to make sense of what he was seeing. 

One of… one of the Fire Nation ships had caught fire. Zuko stared, trying to—blink through the spots dazzling his vision, and focus on the ship, burning in the ocean, no longer attacking the wall—

That—meant something, but his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton, and he couldn’t… he couldn’t…

His heart was hammering, too fast, flitting in his chest like a buzzard wasp.

“ _Zuko_!” 

He focused on Katara’s voice, blinked back the fuzzy darkness creeping into the edges of his vision. He felt like he’d been walking for hours, lungs heaving, muscles screaming. 

“Help him,” he said, but it came more like a whisper. He blinked. Forced his eyes to focus. Spotted Katara, finally, sprinting toward them, the look on her face—

Zuko was glad Sokka was asleep. 

(He was just asleep).

“Help him,” he said again. He tried to take a step and his legs decided no, that was enough of that, and he stumbled forward to land hard on his knees, his palms. The shock of the freezing snow on his lightning-burned hands was enough to make him squeeze his eyes shut, the sudden shift from standing to horizontal washing through him in a cold, choking rush, and—

Zuko jerked awake with fire in his hands and a scream caught in his throat, completely alone. He was alone… in the healers hut. Squashing down the fire in his palm didn’t stop the terror racing through him, but it gave him something to do. The phantom smell of singed fur still clung to his nostrils, and even patting his hands over his torso and arms only twinged in that soft and muffled way, buried under painkillers and bandages. 

The room was hot to the point of choking him, but—that was his fault. The fire was swelling, lashing at the open air as though to escape the confines of the hearth. He had to take a moment to focus and breath before he could douse that fire, too, but he felt the slightest bit steadier, afterwards. Steadier, but not… what had _happened_. Where was—?

Zuko raked his eyes over the beds, the herbs in the window. He really was alone, Yugoda and her apprentices nowhere in sight. Zuko barely noticed, as he eased himself out of bed on unsteady legs and limped over to the window, sun well past its noon zenith and sinking ever lower. Numbing dread swept through him, like ice in his veins.

There was a Fire Nation ship inside the wall. 

Zuko stared at it, bobbing innocently in the harbor, drifting on the gentle waves off the canals. 

Panic gripped his throat, coiling hot and bright in his chest. A few embers escaped on a choked gasp. Zuko jerked away from the window. He nearly fell, barely catching himself on the nightstand. A tray rattled against the wall, and a cup rolled off and shattered against the floor. Zuko didn’t even notice it, just stumbled past it on bare feet. He froze, torn between the door and the window.

Had they—did they _lose_? 

His father was...

But where was Azula, and…?

 _Sokka was_ —

The door opened, and Zuko whirled, fire pressing red-hot into his fists, unsure whether he was preparing to attack or defend himself or simply run. 

He froze. His uncle was standing in the doorway. Uncle was _here_ , standing beside a undeniably Water Tribe woman that Zuko didn’t recognize. She startled the moment that she saw Zuko. The fire in his hands, the tension that had been building in his shoulders, swept out of him.

“I’ll fetch the healer,” she said quickly, already ducking out the door again. “Excuse me, Fire Lord Iroh.”

“Nephew,” his uncle said. He looked disapproving, but not—he looked _sad_. “You should not be out of bed.” 

“What?” Zuko asked, which… What a stupid thing to say. Why was his uncle here? He wasn’t thinking clearly. He felt worse than the last time he’d been in this room, sick and shivering. Zuko glanced back out the window at that Fire Nation ship. 

“My friends—” were hurt, or at least Sokka was, and Katara had been fighting _Azula_. 

“Your friends are all well, Prince Zuko. Please. Sit down,” he said. 

Zuko didn’t sit. He couldn’t—he was exhausted, but he had too much nervous energy to bear sitting still. He clenched his sleeves in his fists to keep his hands from shaking. He’d been changed into one of his sleep robes while he was unconscious, and his state of undress made him feel exposed. 

Uncle came over to the window, and if he noticed the way Zuko tensed as he came closer he didn’t look offended, even though… Uncle was fine, he always had been, Zuko was just. Tense. And he didn’t understand…

Uncle didn’t hesitate to rest his hands on Zuko’s shoulders, except maybe a little hesitation around the bandages. He pulled him in for a hug that squeezed him inside and out. Uncle smelled like fire, and fighting, and it wasn’t a pleasant smell, but… it was just embarrassing how quickly the tension bled out of him. Uncle just held him tighter, and Zuko had to lean over a little, to manage it. He remembered looking up, last time they’d hugged. 

“What are you doing here?” Zuko asked against his shoulder. Uncle held him at arm’s length for a moment, then steered him to the corner of the nearest mattress, apparently done asking him to sit. The furs were cold compared to the rest of the room, and the sleep-warm bed he’d crawled out of. Zuko buried his fingers in it and squeezed.

“After everything my brother has done, coming here was the least I could do,” Uncle said. 

The burning ship made sense now—it was his uncle, come to stop the traitors who had chosen to back his father’s grab for the throne. All the way from the Fire Nation, after the death of his own father. Hot shame rolled in his stomach.

“I—told him,” Zuko said. “I wrote to him. I told him everything.”

This was… all his fault. He was the reason his uncle was here. He’d given his father everything he needed and more, and who knew how many people had been hurt because of him, and… and _Sokka_...

“Nephew,” Uncle said, gently, as though he’d looked straight through him and seen his inner thoughts. “Your father manipulated you. This is not your fault.”

“I wasn’t…” Zuko tried. 

“If anyone is to blame, it is me. For allowing your father to go unchecked for so long, for tolerating my own father’s negligence, and for leaving you, Prince Zuko, when you needed me most.”

“You… oh,” Zuko said. He swallowed past the uneasy pressure in his throat. “You didn’t know.” 

He’d… wondered. After finally seeing Uncle again, with the way he’d reacted in the hallway, with how quickly his grandfather had sent him away again, like he was something to hide. Uncle looked pained. 

“I was content to believe that my father had removed you from my brother’s household for your own good. Clearly, the true circumstances were kept from me. I was so absorbed by my own struggles…” 

Uncle trailed off. He shook his head, looking almost disgusted with himself. He moved away from the bed. Zuko’s heart leapt as his uncle knelt, _bowed low_ , as though he wasn’t the ruler of their nation, as though Zuko was anyone worth bowing to. 

“Nephew, there is no excuse for the pain I have caused you,” he said.

“Don’t,” Zuko said. He knelt too, and the effort made his head rush dizzyingly. He gripped Uncle’s sleeves, partly to steady himself, and tried to pull him up from the floor. “ _Please_ , you’re the Fire Lord, you can’t just—”

“I am your _uncle_ ,” he said, laying a hand on Zuko’s arm to stop him, to help him back to the bed while spots danced across his vision. “And I have failed you, terribly. I’m sorry, Zuko.”

“You didn’t,” Zuko said. “I’m fine—Uncle, I’m _fine_.”

“If you are, you have no one to credit but yourself,” Iroh said. He looked like he wanted to hug him again, and settled for resting a hand on each shoulder. “You did very well, using a technique like that without any training.”

“I had a teacher,” Zuko said. “Kind of. We taught each other.”

“Ah. Your healer friend?” Uncle asked. 

“She’s not just a healer,” Zuko said. 

“She fought your sister and won,” Uncle said, as though that was enough explanation, which—it really was. “And you fought your father.” 

Zuko was shaking his head, the denial already forming before he could find the words. “I didn’t, really—”

“Zuko,” Uncle interrupted him, somehow both gentle and brooking no argument. His hands were heavy on Zuko’s shoulders, holding him in place, but he’d never felt less trapped. “I never intended for you to use that technique. Know that you made the right choice, and put it out of your mind.” 

That was just—so much easier said than done. 

“It’s not _your_ job to fix this,” Uncle added, maybe guessing the reason for Zuko’s hesitance. “You’ve done more than enough. Let me take care of the rest.”

Zuko cleared his throat. “So what… what happens now?”

“That’s up to you, Nephew,” Uncle said, frowning slightly. 

He didn’t… clearly, he didn’t understand the question, because Zuko’s entire appointment had been focused on building goodwill with the Northern Water Tribe, and that was ruined now. The Fire Nation had _attacked_ them. 

Zuko shook his head. “I meant… I don’t think they’ll want me here, after…”

“I have already spoken with Chief Arnook,” Uncle said. “If you would like to stay, you are welcome to, but Zuko, I would like you to consider what it is that you want. I am taking your sister home. You could come with us.”

Zuko hesitated.

“Only if you’d like,” Uncle said simply. “Of course, if you have some reason to _stay_ —”

“Uncle,” Zuko groaned, and then—immediately realized that he should have just played dumb, instead of protesting, because now Uncle was looking very vindicated. He was also still crowding Zuko into the corner of the bed, blocking escape. Not that Zuko felt well enough to escape anywhere.

“I am only saying that Prince Sokka was very concerned for you. Their water healers had much more of a challenge treating your injuries than his,” Uncle said, looking far too pleased for such a heavy topic. “He’s spent the last few days—”

“ _Days_?” Zuko interrupted. Agni, how long had he been sleeping? 

“We have had plenty of time to get acquainted,” Uncle said happily. Zuko didn’t like the sound of that at all, but before Zuko could protest, Iroh was squeezing his shoulder gently.

“I approve,” he said. 

“You—really?” Zuko asked.

“He’s a nice young man who clearly cares about you,” Uncle said. “What else could I ask for?”

“...You really wouldn’t mind if I stayed?” Zuko asked. Iroh raised an eyebrow. 

“I would not have suggested it if I did,” he said. 

“But—I’m a prince,” Zuko said. “I have a duty to the Fire Nation. To—”

“You have a duty to yourself,” Uncle said firmly. “And if not for yourself, then for me.” He closed his eyes briefly. “Zuko, I am so proud of the man you have become.”

Zuko swallowed thickly, but was saved from having to reply, from the embarrassment of being unable to reply, when the door jerked open again. The cold that swept into the room—helped. Zuko cleared his throat, and leaned back enough to glance around his uncle. 

The knot of emotion he’d just cleared jumped back into his throat. Sokka was standing in the doorway, breathing hard. Uncle had told him everyone was fine, but actually seeing him brought such a surge of relief that it left him almost lightheaded. He was fine—more than fine, he looked like he’d sprinted the entire way here, vibrating with energy. If not for his uncle’s hands on his shoulders, he would have jumped to his feet. Instead, he only stiffened, enough for Uncle to turn a curious look toward the doorway. 

He hummed, a small, knowing sound, and turned back to Zuko.

“I love you very much,” Uncle murmured, just for Zuko. “You, and your sister. If you want to come home, you would make this old man very happy… but I would be _much_ happier, just knowing that _you_ are happy. Whatever you choose, I could never be disappointed.” 

He gave Zuko’s shoulder one last reassuring squeeze, and then glanced back to the doorway. Sokka was still hovering, obviously wanting to come in, but trying not to intrude. 

“I suppose I will leave you boys alone,” Uncle said. The look on his face was a little too knowing, but Zuko was too relieved to feel anything close to embarrassment. 

For a moment Sokka just looked at him, rigid with anticipation as Uncle made his exit. His hesitation vanished the moment the door clicked closed. Zuko drew a sharp breath, barely rose in time to meet Sokka half way. Sokka flung himself at him, arms curled under Zuko’s, face buried in his shoulder, and held him so fiercely that Zuko’s knees almost buckled. 

“I’m so angry at you,” Zuko mumbled, but his voice gave him away, no heat to the words, not even close.

“You’re mad at _me?_ ” Sokka just laughed, incredulous and edged with raw relief. His voice was a little unsteady when he spoke. “You almost—you _would have_ —”

Zuko squeezed him tighter, cutting Sokka’s words off before he could finish. He just shook his head against Zuko’s shoulder, and Zuko could feel the tension bleeding out of him. It might have hurt, if he wasn’t still buzzing under a shield of painkillers. He wouldn’t have cared, anyway.

“Are you okay?” Zuko asked. He felt more than heard Sokka hum, fingers curling in the fabric of Zuko’s robe. 

He let go, very reluctantly, when Sokka started to pull back. He didn’t go very far, just enough to unfasten and pull back the top of his coat. It was a different coat than before, bright blue like clean ice. The other one would have been ruined.

“All healed, good as new,” Sokka said. “Didn’t even leave a scar, this time.”

Zuko ran his thumb over the smooth, warm skin, and tried not to remember the heat running over his fingers, Sokka lying so still. It was like all the fear and anxiety in him had built to burst. He was okay, and Zuko was back to being so relieved that he could barely contain it.

“And… your hair,” Zuko said. It was still the warm brown color it had turned in the Spirit Oasis, except...

Sokka reached up to tug on the single white braid self consciously. “It looks stupid,” he said. “Katara won’t let me cut it off.”

“I like it,” Zuko said. He swept a few stray hairs back from Sokka’s forehead, his thumb brushing against the base of the small white braid. Zuko pulled his fingers back a moment later, self conscious. He hadn’t even asked permission to touch, but… Sokka didn’t seem to mind. 

When Zuko glanced up to check, Sokka was looking straight at him. Smiling, a little. Heat burned under his skin, as Sokka reached up to grab his hand, and hold onto it. With how tightly he was gripping his fingers... maybe it wasn’t just for Zuko’s sake.

“I was really worried about you,” Sokka said. “So was your uncle, I guess. We talked a little while you were...” Sokka broke that thought off, and Zuko frowned at the way his voice caught. He cleared his throat. “He’s… nice. You know, for the Fire Lord.”

“Uncle isn’t like my grandfather,” Zuko agreed. “Or my father.”

“I know,” Sokka said simply. “I was just making sure. But, I can tell he cares about you.”

“He invited me home,” Zuko said. Sokka leaned back a little, in surprise, maybe. He seemed to catch himself a moment later, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Oh,” Sokka said. “That’s… good, right?” 

“Right,” Zuko said. “I mean, I don’t know. Chief Arnook said… I could stay here.” 

A beat of silence passed, and then Sokka frowned and shook his head. That… wasn’t the reaction Zuko had been hoping for—the reaction he’d expected.

Zuko flushed, self-consciousness curling sour in his stomach, because… that was presumptuous, maybe, too much, and…

Sokka reached out to brush his arm, a quiet reassurance.

“Katara and I are leaving,” Sokka said. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been to the South Pole. I don’t even know what it looks like, anymore. So we were going to take a ship. Since I can finally...” He made a vague gesture at his brown hair, “Since we don’t have to worry anymore.”

“Oh,” Zuko managed to say, “That’s... great.” 

And it _was_ great. He knew how much Sokka missed the South Pole. 

It was fine. It made his decision easier, anyway.

“Katara’s so excited,” Sokka said quickly. “And Chief Arnook already said Yue can come too. I’ll see my dad again, and we’ll go hunting, maybe take a little canoe out into the ice fields and go spearfishing. No more court politics, no more spirit nonsense, nothing. None of that, so… so…”

Sokka trailed off, a bit breathless from rambling. 

“Come with us,” Sokka said. Dazed, Zuko let Sokka take his other hand. It took a few impossible moments to make sense of the words, but Sokka hadn’t even noticed. He shook his head and corrected himself, “Come with _me_.” 

He caught Zuko’s gaze, looking so hopeful. He was—crushing Zuko’s hands, a little, holding on just a bit too tight, and that was what finally tipped his shock over to nervous thrill. Zuko’s stomach flipped, breath hitching. 

Of course, of course he _wanted_ to, but...

“Are you sure?” Zuko asked.

Sokka scoffed, but he was laughing, too, the sound burning like fire under Zuko’s skin. 

“Shut up, of course I’m sure,” Sokka said. “We can visit home, and then, I don’t know. I’ve never been _anywhere_. We could go to the Earth Kingdom… or the Fire Nation, if you wanted. I don’t care. I’d go anywhere, as long as I’m with you.”

He said it so simply, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maybe it was.

“You’ll have to navigate,” Zuko said softly. Sokka’s eyes crinkled at the corners. He was smiling so wide, as he brought a hand around the back of Zuko’s neck, sliding his fingers through the loose strands. Zuko wanted so badly to kiss him. It was a matter of inches. 

As Sokka pulled him in, it was really nothing at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the original end of the fic, but we’re planning to revisit with an (optional) epilogue, so be sure to subscribe if that interests you :)
> 
> And of course, thank you so much to everyone who's taken the time to comment and kudos. We really appreciate the feedback!


	10. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We've been wanting to write some fluffy established relationship as a break from our season 2 re-write, so here we are :)

Zuko leaned back against the wall in their guest bedroom on Kyoshi Island. The warm afternoon light filtering through the window was making him feel sleepy and slow. Zuko shifted a little under Sokka’s weight in his lap, and ran his fingers absently through his hair.

Sokka still had a smudge of white face paint under his ear, and Zuko rubbed it away with his thumb while he talked. He’d been regaling him with all kinds of stories of the Southern Water Tribe filtered through a nine year old’s lens, about things that he’d done and places Zuko was likely to see. There was a melancholy to it, too, for all the years lost, but Zuko wasn’t going to call attention to it.

Zuko liked Kyoshi Island, though he didn’t have many places to compare it to. He liked it better than the Fire Nation, in any case. The warriors were welcoming, and they had a real beach, though the locals had advised them against swimming. It was a good first stop on their trip, even if Sokka and Katara were obviously eager to move on to the Southern Water Tribe, to see their father again, to show Yue and Zuko the sights and see what had changed for themselves. 

One of the villagers knocked tentatively on their door, like she hadn’t decided whether or not it was appropriate.

“Come in!” Sokka called. He didn’t bother to move from where he was lounging half on top of Zuko, though he perked up when he spotted the brown paper package in her hands. Zuko recognized the wrappings immediately. 

(It was his own mistake for letting Sokka take it from her.)

“From your Uncle,” Sokka said, plucking the stack of letters off the side, where they’d been tied to the package with a red cord. 

Sokka handed the little note over, while Zuko sorted through the boxes. The recycled tea boxes were labeled _for your friends_. There was another more ornate box, this one made from expensive, engraved wood, settled beneath them. Zuko turned it over and frowned when he didn’t see a label. He opened the letter that Uncle had sent along with it, skimming over his flowery greetings to find where he’d explained what the box was for.

“Oh, your cousin sent a letter, too,” Sokka said, picking at the seal with his thumb. Zuko hummed, still skimming over his uncle’s letter. It took him a moment for Sokka’s words to register, along with the shuffling of paper as he turned Lu Ten’s letter over in his hands. Zuko froze.

Oh, no. 

Zuko tried to snatch the letter back from him, but Sokka’s fingers tightened on the page almost as soon as he grabbed for it. 

Zuko met his eyes. Sokka’s expression had settled somewhere between shock and absolute, baffled delight, and the mischief in his eyes made him flush. Zuko tugged harder. 

“Are these…?” Sokka asked, tugging back until Zuko was forced to let go or tear the pages. Zuko buried his face in his hands, instead. Sokka cleared his throat and read from the top, “Tips to woo Yue?”

“He’s just trying to be helpful,” Zuko said, the words muffled through his fingers. “He doesn’t know—”

“Oh, this is very helpful,” Sokka assured him. He was grinning at the pages as he shuffled through them, and Zuko was mortified to see how many there were. His face was on fire. “I should give these to Katara—”

“Do _not_ ,” Zuko said. 

He snatched the letter, crumpling it in his fist, heat pooling in his fingertips. Then, he hesitated, and carefully smoothed the pages back out against his knee. Why did Uncle have to be so _respectful of his privacy_? This would have been so much easier if he’d just set Lu Ten straight, rather than waiting for Zuko to do it himself. 

“Just—here,” Zuko said, shoving the rest of Uncle’s package toward him. The repurposed tea boxes, not the finely engraved wooden box with its latch still in place. 

“Those are for you,” he said pointedly. “Go give them to Katara and Yue.” 

“Can I read your _Uncle’s_ letter?” Sokka asked. 

“No,” Zuko said forcefully. Certainly not before Zuko had read it, first. Spirits knew what Uncle had written about them. Sokka laughed, but gathered up the boxes anyway, although with a healthy amount of wariness for their contents. 

“They’re candy,” Zuko added, seeing Sokka’s face. “Not spicy.”

“We’ll be the judge of that,” Sokka said, and then he leaned down and kissed him. Zuko’s heart still fluttered, every time a surprise, every time a—distraction. If Zuko hadn’t been red enough before, he definitely was now, and by the way Sokka laughed under his breath, he’d noticed. “Don’t skip dinner just because you’re writing your Uncle back. You’re going to be grumpy if you have to eat ship’s rations instead of a real meal because you lost track of time.”

_Sokka_ was the one who would have been grumpy, but Zuko hummed acknowledgement anyway. 

Zuko turned his attention back to Uncle’s letter. It shouldn’t have surprised him that he’d thought to send a package ahead, especially after Zuko had told him the route they’d planned to take. He worried the edge of the page with his thumb.

_Something to share with your friends, and a gift for the Chief of the Southern Water Tribe. It’s important to make a good first impression..._

Unease crawled under his skin as he read the rest of the letter, and its contents settled into the back of his mind, where the little riot of nerves had been quietly growing for the last few weeks of their voyage. He... 

Spirits, he was meeting Sokka’s father. Sokka’s father, and the rest of the Southern Water Tribe, who had every reason to hate the Fire Nation, and he was expected to make a good first impression, and—

Suddenly, Zuko wasn’t hungry.

They’d left Kyoshi Island behind days ago, and Zuko was trying not to think about how they were probably only hours away from sighting land. Nervousness had calcified into something much closer to dread as they drew closer, even as Sokka and Katara grew more excited. 

Zuko hadn’t wanted to ruin their happiness, so he’d slipped down into their quarters after dinner, when the rest of the crew was distracted keeping watch for land. He’d forgone his own hammock to wrap himself up in Sokka’s, feeling a little ridiculous, but mostly just anxious. 

He’d had half a mind to just stay there until they made landfall, before the quiet sound of the hatch opening, of boots on the ladder rail, interrupted his misery. Zuko felt a tentative hand on his head a few seconds later, and any hope that he could continue wallowing in peace went up in smoke.

“Hey, buddy,” Sokka said, gently brushing his fingers through Zuko’s hair. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Zuko said.

“Seasick?” Sokka asked. “I’m sure Yue wouldn’t mind sharing her patch of rail.”

“I’m not seasick,” Zuko said. He’d actually expected it to be worse, being down below deck. He hadn’t done well inside when he was sailing to the Northern Water Tribe, but Water Tribe ships weren’t claustrophobic in the way the private cabins on a Fire Nation vessel were, with a wide, wooden hold, rather than sterile steel hallways. It wasn’t so bad, when he could climb into a hammock that swayed along with the ocean and wrap himself in one of the soft furs that smelled like Sokka.

“Okay… so, is there a reason you’re wrapped up in my hammock, in the middle of the afternoon? Is it...” Sokka hesitated, “Do you want me to stop teasing you about Yue? I was just joking. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“It’s not that,” Zuko said quickly, because he did _not_ want to talk about his cousin, or the mortifying letter he’d sent ahead to Kyoshi Island. “I’m fine.” 

Sokka hummed. 

“You sound fine,” he said, unconvinced, and mercilessly did not leave Zuko to agonize in peace. 

“I think… maybe I should have stayed with Suki on Kyoshi Island,” Zuko said. 

The Kyoshi Warriors had been so welcoming, even after Zuko had introduced himself, and they’d learned who he was. They were going to stop by again after visiting Sokka’s father _anyway_ , to offer to bring Suki with them on their tour of the Earth Kingdom, so it wouldn’t have even been a hardship—

“For three weeks?” Sokka asked. And okay, no, he didn’t want to stay on Kyoshi Island for three weeks when _Sokka_ wasn’t going to be there with him, but…

“Maybe,” Zuko said stubbornly. “I just...” He sighed, frustrated. Sokka didn’t even say anything, just waited patiently for Zuko to continue. “Meeting you father is… stressful.”

“I know,” Sokka said gently, “but he’s going to like you.”

“How can you possibly know that?” Zuko asked. 

“Because _I_ like you,” Sokka said. 

Zuko’s stomach dropped. Sokka’s hand stilled in his hair, for just a second, at his expression.

“You _hated_ me when we first met,” Zuko said. He buried his face in the pillow. “Agni, he’s going to hate me.”

“I didn’t hate you,” Sokka said. Zuko glared at him, and Sokka rolled his eyes. “I didn’t! I didn’t even know you, I just—okay, _maybe_ the Fire Nation thing will take a little getting used to…” 

Zuko groaned, and when he squashed his face back into the furs, Sokka went back to patting his hair, consolingly. 

“How about this,” Sokka said. “It doesn’t _matter_ if he hates you.”

Zuko had nothing to say to that, because of _course_ it mattered, because Sokka loved his father, and Zuko wanted Sokka to love—because he— _because it mattered._

Sokka nudged him. When Zuko didn’t look up, he sighed, exasperated. 

“Okay, that’s it. Scoot over,” Sokka said. 

“It’s a one person hammock,” Zuko said, mostly into the furs.

“It’s _my_ hammock,” Sokka said. “So I get to decide how many people it fits. Scoot.”

Zuko hesitated, but Sokka just kept poking him until he let go of the fur enough that Sokka could pull it back. There was really no graceful way to fit two people into a single-person hammock, but Zuko suspected that, maybe, that had been the point.

He pulled Sokka’s fur up high enough to cover his face, to cover his smile, as Sokka wrapped himself, just… all around him, one knee over his side, his nose brushing the back of Zuko’s neck. 

“There. We fit,” he said smugly, and Zuko couldn’t help but laugh.

Sokka brushed a hand down his side, soothing but also, clearly, considering his words.

“You think I’m not nervous?” Sokka asked. Zuko’s smile went a little brittle, and he was thankful Sokka couldn’t see it. Or maybe not, he thought, when Sokka’s arm tightened around his waist, anyway. 

“I know you are,” Zuko said. Sokka actually had a good reason to be nervous. Zuko was just—the way he was. He’d done this before, for spirit’s sake, when he’d first arrived for his appointment in the North Pole, and with far less support than he had now. The only difference now was that he actually had something to lose. “I’m sorry for—” 

“Will you _shush_?” Sokka asked, in the same tone he used to ask _why are you like this?_. That was a question that had, unsurprisingly, stopped making an appearance, sometime after Sokka got a better idea of… everything, really, about Zuko.

“I just meant that I get it,” Sokka said, “and we can be nervous together. And you know, maybe—uh, maybe he won’t be happy, but I don’t care. I still want you to meet my family, and I’m still going to show you everything I promised we’d see. Okay?” 

Zuko hummed.

“He’ll come around,” Sokka insisted, which was _different_ from _he’ll like you_ , but Zuko wasn’t going to argue. He grabbed Sokka’s hand where it was draped over his side, and laced their fingers together. 

It was mid-afternoon, and even though there were no windows in the crew quarters, and it was certainly dark enough to sleep, it was too early. Zuko was too wound up to fall asleep easily, anyway, but it was nice to relax for a while. 

He could almost pretend that it was _actually_ relaxing, even though he was fairly certain that he wouldn’t be able to truly relax until their visit was over. 

“Ready to go back upstairs?” Sokka asked, after so long that Zuko had started to wonder if _Sokka_ had fallen asleep instead. He felt—not calmer, really, but better. Zuko sighed, and if his breath came out a little warm, Sokka was kind enough not to tease him for it.

The cold air stung a little when Zuko took a deep breath, but that was grounding in its own way. Yue and Katara were exactly where Zuko had left them after their meal, Yue leaning part-way over the side of the ship, with Katara crouched beside her, expression torn between amusement and sympathy. 

Yue turned at the sound of their boots on the deck and caught Zuko’s eye.

Her eyes were red-rimmed, and she still looked a bit gray. She’d been seasick for nearly the whole voyage, and… it kind of showed, in her slightly rumpled appearance, robes not-quite pressed. She’d given up on her complicated, looping hairstyle early into the trip, traded for a simple braid. There were a few flyaway hairs tucked behind her ears, which she hadn’t even bothered trying to tame. 

She looked more put together than Zuko felt, in any case.

Katara rubbed a hand up and down her back, soothingly. 

“We’re walking,” Yue said. “Next time, we’re walking.”

“To the Earth Kingdom?” Sokka asked. 

“Yes,” she said. “The Fire Nation, too. Anywhere.”

“We can’t walk to the Earth Kingdom, and the Fire Nation is an archipelago,” Sokka said. “It’s in the middle of the ocean.”

“Katara can move it,” Yue said.

“The ocean?” Sokka asked. 

Yue turned and fixed Katara with a wide-eyed stare, overly hopeful, and much more frazzled than her usual, poised teasing. It made Katara laugh, outright, which made Yue pout. 

“We’ll get you something before we go,” Katara promised her, still rubbing soothing circles on her back. “You should have told me you got seasick. We could have asked Master Yugoda before we left.”

“I didn’t know,” Yue said mournfully. “I’ve never been anywhere. The gondolas at home are _not_ like this.”

Katara pet her hair, then tucked another flyaway strand behind her ear. “The waves will be better once we’re closer to shore,” she said, glancing up at the smudge on the horizon, promising their impending arrival at the South Pole.

Zuko didn’t realize he’d been imagining Agna Qel’a until they’d drawn close enough for him to finally make out more than the rough shape of the bay curving inland. Harbor Town wasn’t built upwards like the North Pole, with towering buildings and the spire of the palace rising above them all. The city had spread wide instead, buildings with rounded roofs like pearls peeking out of the snow stretched in every direction. 

At the very edges of the village, he could just make out the rough scaffolding and exposed walls of half-finished houses. The reconstruction project had been underway for years, and soon the Southern Water Tribe would be even stronger than before. Their heading took them straight into the mouth of the bay, toward the center of the city and the bustling port, crammed with far more ships than Zuko remembered seeing in Agna Qel’a’s harbor, a mix of Earth Kingdom and Water Tribe vessels.

“Is it how you remember it?” Zuko asked. He’d meant it—it was supposed to be a happy question, but when Zuko turned to smile at Sokka, he was startled to see him frowning at the city, looking uncertain. 

“No,” Sokka said, shaking his head. “It was never like this. I almost don’t recognize it.”

Zuko crossed his arms. He’d been feeling nervous all morning, vaguely sick with it, but when he glanced over at Sokka he didn’t seem nearly as anxious as Zuko was feeling at the prospect of meeting his father. If anything, he looked _lost_.

He could... relate to feeling unrooted, to clinging to memories he _knew_ weren’t real anymore, and being disappointed by the change, anyway. It was easy, too easy, to fixate on what they’d lost.

“What parts do you recognize?” Zuko asked. Sokka glanced over at him. He hadn’t expected the question, but he frowned thoughtfully, anyway. 

“I...” Sokka trailed off, and turned back toward the harbor. Hesitantly, he pointed, although they were far enough out that Zuko couldn’t follow the line of his finger very well. “The sort of taller one, in the middle. That’s the group house. I think it’s the same—they just built around it. Which means my—I mean, my dad’s house is right behind it. You can’t see it from here.” Sokka hummed. “The bay’s the same, obviously. The...” 

He leaned over, and gestured toward the water. As if on cue, a striped brown head poked above the surface—or maybe it _had_ been following a cue, expecting a treat, because the tiger seal watched them with a disgruntled, distinctly _annoyed_ look before splashing away. 

“They follow the fishing ships,” he explained, as Zuko leaned over for a better look. 

Sokka hummed, and when the next wave rocked the ship he leaned into Zuko a little. It could have been an accident, or just an excuse to get warm, but Zuko knew it wasn’t. 

“I know what you’re doing,” Sokka said. “And… thanks. I guess, I always used to think about coming home, and... I knew it would be different, but for some reason I never tried to picture what home would actually look like.”

They stood for a few more minutes, leaning against the rail and against each other. Eventually the vice captain came up from below deck to shout orders to the crew. Zuko watched a few of the men scramble up the rigging, the sails snapping in the sharp winds sweeping off the bay. The cold spray off the water, the slow build of anticipation as they waited to draw close enough to land, brought him back to that first day, waiting outside Agna Qela’s walls, to how nervous he’d been then, and how determined to fulfill his duty. 

They were getting close enough now that he could make out a small group gathering at the pier. He’d made Sokka describe his father, in probably more detail than he should have had the patience for, although Sokka never made him feel like he was being annoying, or a burden. Zuko hadn’t known what Chief Arnook looked like when he’d first met him, and he was _not_ making that mistake again. He was going to _recognize_ him, immediately, and he was going to greet him properly, and he wasn’t going to mess it up—

Zuko scanned over them, nothing more than little blue shapes on the dock, trying to somehow tell which one was Sokka’s father. They looked—the same, all of them, because they were still much too far away for Zuko to make out their faces.

“It’s dad!” Katara said. She leaned eagerly against the railing, pointing at one of the little smudges, and Zuko tried to follow her finger before she turned away to run up the deck.

“She seems excited,” Zuko said quietly. He tilted his head to look at Sokka, and the thready smile he was wearing as he watched his sister lean over the rail. “You seem…”

Sokka shrugged. 

“She… chose to leave, and to stay with me,” he murmured, quiet enough for just Zuko to hear. “And she had her bending training, while I just... I feel like I wasted so much time. Sorry, I don’t know.” 

He stared down at his hands, with a little flicker of self-consciousness, as though he had anything to apologize for. 

“I _am_ excited,” he insisted. “I think it’s just… different.”

Zuko squeezed his hand, and Sokka glanced up at him, first surprised, then fond. The softness of his smile reached his eyes—Sokka’s eyes were always soft, when he looked at him, but now they were something else, a lightness that curled gently around Zuko’s too-quick heart, care and comfort and warmth.

“Katara!” Yue yelped, shattering the moment. Zuko ripped his eyes away just in time to see the top of her hair disappear over the side, and hear the splash. 

Sokka was at the rail in an instant, and Zuko snatched his elbow, holding him back from doing anything rash, like diving in after her.

Katara was standing on a little ice floe, hands on her hips, bobbing gently in the ship’s wake.

“You can’t wait twenty more minutes?” Sokka called down to her, exasperated. 

She laughed, loud and bright, at the look on Sokka’s face. 

“Jump,” Katara said. “I’ll catch you.”

Sokka glanced at Yue, still looking grey, and then over at Zuko. He’d been looking forward to the time to breathe, and to brace himself for the meeting. He was probably gripping the railing too tightly to disguise how much he did _not_ want to go ahead, but even if he hadn’t been, Sokka always seemed to see through him, anyway. 

“I think we can wait,” Sokka said.

“Suit yourself,” Katara said, sweeping her arms out. The ship gave a tiny jolt, as Katara swept out over the water, enough that the vice captain paused to glance over the side before shaking his head slightly. Yue made a tiny, unhappy sound when the ship settled, and pressed her forehead against the rail. 

She still looked happy, though, and excited for Katara. Zuko forced his own nerves down, as deeply as he could, and reminded himself that he could be happy for them, too.

Despite her hesitation to go with Katara, Yue was desperate to get off the ship. She was the first person to deboard as soon as the gangplank went down. Zuko watched the crew mill around for a moment too long. Sokka’s mittened hand nudged against his own. 

“Ready?” Sokka asked. 

_No_ was the answer, and they both knew it. Sokka’s expression softened, seeing the look on Zuko’s face, even though he was very much trying to hide it, because Sokka was nervous, too, and this wasn’t fair of him—

Sokka leaned in and pressed a light kiss to Zuko’s temple, just along the edge of his scar. His nose was freezing, brushing against the soft skin of Zuko’s hairline. He blinked, and tried not to shiver, and—steeled himself, because he could do this. Sokka rested a hand against Zuko’s lower back, and nudged him forward. He could do this.

The dock was slick with an inch of ice blown off the bay, and Sokka was eyeing Zuko like he was worried he would fall, or maybe like he expected him to turn right around and climb back below deck. 

Zuko could hear someone chiding Katara down on the dock. That must be the chief. His stomach flipped treacherously. Should he peek over the rail, try to catch a glimpse of him? No, he should—he should be poised, and… not make a fool of himself, make a good impression—

“You see how the ship brings the passengers all the way to the dock, and _then_ they deboard?” Chief Hakoda asked. Katara laughed, which just made him sound more exasperated, words carried up over the rail by the wind, “We have a perfectly nice, perfectly _safe_ wharf here.”

“I couldn’t wait,” Katara said.

“You two will be the death of me,” Chief Hakoda said.

“What did _I_ do?” Sokka asked.

The Chief’s head snapped up at Sokka’s words. Zuko withdrew, just a little. It—it wasn’t a _retreat_ , he was just… giving Sokka space, and anyway, Sokka didn’t notice. Even though their footsteps had been in sync the whole walk over, he didn’t notice as Zuko let him go on ahead without him, pace quickening as he walked down the gangplank. He was near jogging when he reached him, arms thrown wide. Chief Hakoda huffed when he collided with him, rocking back on his heels and wrapping his arms tightly around his shoulders. 

Sokka was nearly as tall as his father, but he looked small wrapped up in his arms. He bent forward slightly, laid his head down on his shoulder and buried his face in the soft fur at his collar.

“Hi, dad,” Sokka said.

“Let me look at you,” Hakoda said, but he didn’t immediately pull away. They hugged for another long moment before he leaned back at arm’s length. Despite his nerves, Sokka was grinning so hard that Zuko had to suppress a smile, too. When the chief brought his hands up to the side of his head he straightened up even further. 

“What happened to Tui’s blessing?” he asked, and then he tugged on the white braid on the side of Sokka’s head, until he laughed and swatted his hand away.

“We used it, I guess. During the battle,” Sokka said, absently patting the front of his coat. Alarm flickered across the chief’s face. Sokka hastily added, “But Katara healed me up, so I’m fine now. I don’t need it anymore.”

“The death of me,” Chief Hakoda repeated, more firmly, and Sokka’s grin took on a sheepish tilt. 

Chief Hakoda sighed and shook his head. He turned, then, and his eyes fell on Yue. He smiled, patiently expectant. Katara jumped, an embarrassed flush creeping up her neck. 

“Chief Hakoda,” Katara said, mouth curling slightly at the formality, “This is Princess Yue of the Northern Water Tribe.”

“Princess,” Chief Hakoda greeted her warmly. She looked remarkably poised, considering she’d spent the better part of the last week wishing for death, and Zuko was immensely jealous of her composure. The chief turned with an amiable smile, probably to say something else to Katara. 

Sokka nudged his father on the shoulder, instead, drawing his attention back.

“And this… this… uh,” Sokka said, when he turned over his shoulder and saw that Zuko wasn’t there.

Because Zuko was—still standing frozen at the top of the gangplank, like an idiot. He flushed and strode forward, and focused very, very hard on not slipping on the icy walk. Sokka smiled at him, far too fond, which just made Zuko more embarrassed. Chief Hakoda—looked a little puzzled, gaze flicking over his face and his coat, but there was no recognition there, and _oh spirits_ , he didn’t know who he was.

“Chief Hakoda, this is Prince Zuko,” Sokka said, “of the—”

“Prince _Zuko_ ,” Chief Hakoda repeated, fixing his son with a startled look. Sokka faltered, just slightly, at the look on his father’s face. 

“...of the Fire Nation,” Zuko filled in. 

There was something inscrutable in his expression, as it flickered back over Zuko’s face. He wasn’t certain it was possible for him to get any tenser, or stand any straighter—he tried, anyway.

Sokka was frowning at him, just barely. Zuko’s heart sank. 

“Welcome to the Southern Water Tribe,” Chief Hakoda said amiably, after just slightly too long. Zuko nodded and reached to shake his hand in the Water Tribe style. He looked a little caught off guard by the gesture, but it easily smoothed over. 

“Thank you for the invitation,” Zuko said, even though they both knew that it was Sokka who had invited him, not the chief. 

Zuko paused to pull open his bag, and draw the engraved box his uncle had sent out. He’d already peeked inside, just to be certain his uncle hadn’t accidentally chosen something that would be received—poorly. In retrospect, he shouldn’t have worried, or even been surprised by its contents. He’d merely rolled his eyes when he’d seen the tea set that Uncle had chosen. 

“A gift from my uncle,” Zuko explained. He hastily amended, “The Fire Lord.”

Yue was staring at him and the box with a little squint, like she was _seriously_ regretting not bringing something too. Zuko was trying very hard not to look at her, or at Sokka or Katara.

“Thank you,” Hakoda said, taking the box—reluctantly? No, he just looked… puzzled, not that Zuko understood _why_. Hospitality gifts weren’t that strange. It was something the Water Tribes and the Fire Nation had in common. 

With the searching look the chief gave him, gaze lingering a moment too long, Zuko couldn’t help but feel like he’d done something wrong, anyway.

They’d packed lightly, knowing that anything they brought with them by ship would _also_ have to come with them as they hiked through the Earth Kingdom. They waited awkwardly on the docks until their bags had been unloaded, and then followed Sokka’s father down the pier. 

The chief was getting the same reception that Sokka always had whenever they walked through the streets in Agna Qel’a, with seemingly everyone they crossed paths with stopping to smile and say hello. Zuko might have found it funny, if he wasn’t too busy being sick with nerves. Katara was walking ahead, tucked under her father’s arm, and Yue was trailing politely beside them. Zuko made a point of hanging a few steps behind, and Sokka had noticed after only a few feet and slowed down to walk with him. 

“I’m sorry,” Zuko whispered. 

“What for?” Sokka asked. 

“I’m—I don’t know,” he said honestly. He _didn’t_ know, and that was the problem. He’d messed this up, somehow, already. He’d probably… never really stood a chance of doing this right, with who he was, and he didn’t know what Chief Hakoda was thinking, and Sokka was _frowning_ , and—

Sokka caught his hand and squeezed it, just a little. 

“He’s just—surprised,” Sokka said. He sounded a little doubtful as he said it, but he was smiling now, like he thought Zuko wouldn’t notice if he pasted on a placid face. “If anyone should be sorry, it’s us. We should have written ahead and warned him we were bringing you and Yue along.”

The village didn’t flow quite so obviously as Agna Qel’a did, probably because they hadn’t been constrained by the canals and arching bridges that divided the streets of the Northern Water Tribe, and wouldn’t have had the waterbenders for a system like that if they’d wanted it. Here, the walkways were more clearly marked out by villagers’ boots, with the main streets stamped out along the busiest paths from the harbor. 

They got a few curious looks, but they weren’t nearly as wary as Zuko had worried they might be, especially so soon after news of what had happened to their sister tribe, although Zuko suspected that might have been due to the company he was with more than anything. 

They passed the large building that Sokka had pointed out to him on the way in. Zuko hadn’t been able to see the carvings in the walls from afar, but up close they were obvious, abstract push and pull designs representing Tui and La, and a larger diagram of the phases of the moon over the doorway, marking the building as more obviously a public space than the homes behind it. 

Sokka and Katara both hesitated a moment at the turn, when the chief didn’t lead them directly behind the building, in the direction of his home like Sokka had described.

“I thought you two might be a little big to share your old room,” Hakoda explained, when he stopped outside a much smaller building. He brushed the fur hanging in the doorway aside and held it open for them as they filed into the living space. It was small, but _so_ much warmer than outside, or the cavernous rooms in the Northern Water Tribe’s palace, even though the fire in the hearth wasn’t lit. 

“That would be a little cramped,” Katara agreed. She threw her bag down in front of one of the doorways, calling dibs. 

“I’m sorry Princess Yue, Prince Zuko,” Chief Hakoda said. “We didn’t have a chance to have rooms prepared for you.” He gave his children an exasperated look. “But if you’d like to drop your things here, they’ll be safe until after dinner. Then—”

“Don’t worry about it, Dad,” Katara said. “Yue and I are going to share. Sokka and Zuko, too.”

Chief Hakoda stared at her for a moment, and then turned to look right at Zuko. 

Well, at Zuko _and_ Yue, but Zuko could barely think about how Yue was standing right beside him, doing her own impression of a pinned butterfly moth, as the chief stared at them, and then turned back to his children, eyebrows lifted in just the slightest display of surprise. 

Zuko felt like he was going to combust from nerves. And for once, he thought that Yue might be there with him. Her face was so carefully blank, and Zuko was certain it was almost a perfect mirror of his own. She didn’t blush easily, but even she was turning very slightly red.

Zuko was—he wasn’t even embarrassed, he’d gone suddenly cold, dread hollowing him out and creeping into the corners. Embarrassment would have been preferable, it was the scrutiny that he couldn’t stand, as Sokka’s father glanced between the four of them like he couldn’t quite decide what to make of them. 

Zuko took a slow breath that did absolutely nothing to calm his nerves. He was regretting—everything. He should have stayed behind, after all. Sokka wouldn’t have cared. He’d have been disappointed, but he would have understood, probably, and not hated him for it, most likely—

Sokka took Zuko’s hand, and he only barely resisted the urge to flinch at the sudden touch, or give in to the urge to hide it, because apparently they weren’t hiding _anything_ , they were just going to come out and tell their father without any warning, like there was no possibility of him taking it badly, or like they didn’t care if he did—

“All right then,” Chief Hakoda said, after a moment. “Let me know if you decide you’d like your own spaces.”

“Thank you, Chief,” Yue said, with remarkable poise, considering. Zuko couldn’t seem to make himself say anything at all, which was good, because it meant that the chief didn’t so much as glance at him. He just squeezed Sokka’s shoulder, kissed Katara’s hair, and let himself out without another word.

“That went well,” Katara said. 

“You’re crushing my hand,” Sokka said, and Zuko jerked his hand back. 

“Sorry,” he said. 

“You’re good,” Sokka said. “You okay?” 

Zuko tucked his hands into his sleeves. “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Sokka said, sounding skeptical. “We’re gonna go say hi to Gran Gran before dinner. Do you want to come?”

“Zuko and I are going to unpack,” Yue said firmly, before Zuko could stutter out a lie about how he would like nothing more than to leave right now to meet Sokka’s grandmother, who Sokka clearly loved, even though he was exhausted and kind of wanted to lie face down right here in the middle of the floor. 

Katara shrugged, and swept Yue’s mostly-intact braid behind her shoulder, just an excuse to touch. “You can meet her at dinner, anyway,” she said. “I’ll come get you.”

Sokka was looking at Zuko like he could see _right_ through him, like he was considering offering to stay back, too. Zuko mustered up the most convincing smile he could—probably not _that_ convincing, judging by the eyeroll Sokka gave him, but good enough. 

Yue collapsed onto the rug in the middle of the room almost as soon as they were gone, groaning into her hands. Zuko could relate. 

Zuko was prepared for dinner. This, at least, he’d done before. He’d had plenty of practice in Northern Water Tribe dining customs, and surely the Southern Water Tribe couldn’t be so far off. He felt better, knowing what to expect.

Zuko was prepared for dinner, until he stepped into what was _not_ a banquet hall, like they had in the Northern Water Tribe, but a simple living space, with a single table already set in the center of the room. This was someone's house. 

This was the _chief’s_ house. 

Katara put a hand between his shoulders before he could fully freeze in the doorway, and steered him over to sit in the empty space beside Sokka. She sat down on Yue’s other side, as though nothing had happened, beside an enormous man that Zuko definitely hadn’t been introduced to, and an elder at his side who must be Sokka’s grandmother.

The chief nodded to them as they sat at the table, where their meal had already been served. The food was familiar, at least, all arranged on large shared plates in the middle of the table, although Zuko eyed some of the dishes—a bowl of sea prune stew, passed around the table—less enthusiastically than others. Sokka started to help himself almost as soon as they’d sat down, pausing only to pass pieces of salted fish and puffin seal sausage over to his grandmother.

Zuko hesitated, and stole a look at Yue, but she only shrugged and followed suit.

Introductions were awkward, but not as bad as they could have been. Sokka and Katara had clearly spoken to their grandmother about both of them already, so she just smiled and greeted them warmly. The other man introduced himself as Bato, _the chief’s husband_. Zuko was definitely going to have words with Sokka about what was and was not relevant information, but at least the man didn’t seem offended by Zuko’s surprise. He had a pleasant voice, a calming demeanor that might have been disarming, in other circumstances, but Zuko was buzzing with too much nervous energy to really relax.

They settled in to eat, and Sokka’s grandmother had plenty of questions—about their voyage here, about Sokka’s warrior training and Katara’s bending. About, even, Master Pakku, although there was clearly no love lost there for Katara _or_ her grandmother, leaving the chief and his husband to exchange amused glances while Katara described, in great detail, the results of her interrupted match that she _certainly_ would have won. 

She stopped just short of the _interruption_ , thankfully, although it hung awkwardly in the room anyway, but...

It had been going fine. He’d _almost_ found himself relaxing, thinking, maybe, this wouldn’t be so bad—

“So,” Chief Hakoda said. “The Northern Water Tribe and the Fire Nation.”

Gran Gran hummed and sipped from her bowl. She nudged Bato lightly with her elbow. 

“You’d better keep this one away from the Earth King,” she whispered, jabbing one bony thumb in the chief’s direction. Bato barked a laugh, which made Chief Hakoda glance up and squint suspiciously at the exchange, slightly too quiet for him to overhear.

“That’s a long trip, for both of you,” Chief Hakoda continued, after a pause wherein both Gran Gran and Bato glanced innocently away.

“We—all came from the Northern Water Tribe,” Zuko said. 

“So I’ve heard,” Chief Hakoda said. 

“We stopped by Kyoshi Island, first,” Katara added, smiling. She was breaking a crab leg with her hands, not at _all_ dignified the way a princess was expected to be in the Fire Nation, or even in the Northern Water Tribe, really. But Zuko supposed… Sokka _had_ said that the title meant more, in the North, so… it was probably fine. He would just copy what she was doing, since it seemed to be working. “Although Suki—she’s one of the Kyoshi Warriors—said that it’s not much like the rest of the Earth Kingdom, so we’ll have to see.”

“See what?” Bato asked. 

“Well, we’re planning to go to the Earth Kingdom next,” Katara said. He blinked at her, and then turned to share a look with his husband. 

“We?” Hakoda asked. 

“Yes, we… all of us,” Katara said. 

The chief hesitated, a frown already creasing his forehead, and slowly lowered his bowl to the table. 

“You two just got here,” Chief Hakoda said. “Don’t you think you should stay for a while?”

“We’re staying for three weeks,” Katara said. “And it’s not like we won’t be back to visit again soon.”

“I don’t like the idea of you travelling the Earth Kingdom alone,” Chief Hakoda said.

“Well, good thing we’re not _going_ alone,” Sokka said. “Zuko and Yue will be there, and we’re going to bring Suki, too.”

Katara was a bending master. Zuko was, maybe not as good as Katara, but he was a strong enough bender, and a fairly good swordsman. Yue was a natural at diplomacy, so immediately likable, and Sokka was a genius. Zuko couldn’t have felt more confident in his friends. 

That wasn’t why the chief was worried, though, and all of them knew it. 

“I just don’t want you getting hurt,” Chief Hakoda said. Frustration flashed over Sokka’s face, there and gone in an instant. Zuko saw it anyway, and if the chief’s startled expression was anything to go by, he had seen it too. 

“We can take care of ourselves,” Sokka said. “We _have_ been.”

“I know you can,” Chief Hakoda said, placating. “That’s not the issue—”

“We can talk about this more later,” Bato suggested. Sokka skewered his meat with a little more force than necessary, knife clicking sharply against his plate.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said. “It’s our decision, and we’re going!”

“Sokka—” 

“I’m—” Sokka said. He hesitated, clearly rethinking what he’d been about to say, and huffed under his breath, “—going to get some air.” He pushed himself up from the table and turned for the door. “If you think I can manage on my own.”

Chief Hakoda sighed. He scrubbed a hand over his face, then glanced at Katara, who just crossed her arms and raised her eyebrows, stubborn, and looking startlingly like her father. He sighed again and rose to follow Sokka, with Gran Gran and Bato watching him with mixed disapproval and sympathy.

Zuko didn’t realize he’d risen to follow, too, until he was standing in the doorway. Sokka was already stomping up the road, well out of earshot, and either unaware that his father was following, or pointedly ignoring him.

“Wait,” Zuko said, too quickly to second guess himself. Chief Hakoda stalled, and Zuko hurried to add, “Uh, sir.”

“Prince Zuko,” he said.

“I think… he just needs a minute,” Zuko said. 

The chief frowned at Sokka’s retreating back, but he looked more worried than upset by Zuko’s interruption. The chief hummed. 

“I suppose you would know better than I would,” he said. 

“That’s not...” Zuko started to protest, but the chief sent him a quelling look, one eyebrow raised. 

“It’s all right, son,” he said. “I’m not offended.”

Zuko tucked his hands into his sleeves, feeling awkward, and nervous. It was—maybe too late to go back inside, now, not without offending him. He hadn’t really thought it through when he’d followed, beyond seeing that Sokka was upset and wanting to help. The silence felt oppressive, with the night settling over the village like a blanket. It might have been a comfort—the peace, the stillness, the quiet—but all Zuko could focus on was the too-loud beating of his heart as the chief considered him.

“To be honest Prince Zuko, I didn’t know what to make of you,” Chief Hakoda said. Zuko’s fingers curled around the seam inside his sleeve, worrying the fabric beneath his thumb. “No one knows a thing about you. I’d never even heard of you, before the news from the Northern Water Tribe reached us. Hell of a first impression.”

“Ah,” Zuko said. Well that… explained his reaction at the docks, at least. Zuko straightened, trying and failing not to look nervous. It was already cold outside, and at some point during the meal it had snowed, large wet flakes that still clung to the ground where they landed. “What… have you heard?”

“Chief Arnook’s letter was short,” he said. “Very short. _Katara’s safe, Sokka is injured and recovering_ —that’s it. Promise of another letter to follow, which we’re still waiting on, by the way.”

There was a hint of bitter frustration in his tone, the same as he’d seen flicker over Katara’s and Sokka’s faces in the North Pole. The Northern Water Tribe’s general disinterest in the Southern Tribe during the war was well known—it had, in fact, been a key consideration in the Fire Nation’s strategy, during the raids. 

Chief Arnook had been overwhelmed in the aftermath of the battle, Zuko knew. He’d had a difficult enough time convincing Tekka to add his letter to Lu Ten to their backlog before they’d departed, with how many other correspondences the Northern Water Tribe had needed to send in the wake of the battle, to allies, to victims’ families—

Zuko cleared his throat. Chief Hakoda sighed and glanced at him sidelong, like he was thinking along the same lines. He understood, but the slight had aggravated old wounds all the same.

Zuko shivered, pulled his arms a little tighter to his chest in the cold. He _didn’t_ use his breath of fire, as much as he wanted to—the coat was good enough. 

“We’ve heard—a few versions, from the traders passing through,” Chief Hakoda said, and Zuko winced. He raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m happy to hear yours.”

Chief Arnook had mentioned that Sokka was injured, but he hadn’t mentioned _how_. He would almost think that he’d been trying to spare Zuko the blame, but most likely he’d been too busy for explanations, or maybe hadn’t gotten the full story himself, if he’d sent the letter before Sokka had been awake enough to tell it. Zuko took a breath, frustrated with how unsteady he felt, fingers curled over the edge of his sleeve.

“I was injured,” Zuko said quietly, “when my father tried to attack the Spirit Oasis.”

He held out his left hand, so the chief could see the faint pink scars spidering toward his wrist, disappearing beneath his sleeve. Master Yugoda had told him that they might fade, especially if Katara continued to treat them, but they would always be there. 

He was long past feeling self-conscious about his scars, but the look the chief was giving him was an entirely different matter.

“I know that… for a son… to his father,” Zuko started, the words sticking treacherously. He cleared his throat. “I know how it looks. But my father—wasn’t a good man.”

“I don’t imagine he was,” Hakoda said. Zuko nodded tightly, relieved that he didn’t have to justify himself, because he wasn’t entirely certain he could. He took a breath to steady himself, not that it helped much.

“Right. So that’s…Sokka came with me, that night,” Zuko said. “He saved me. Him, and the moon spirit.”

Even just saying it out loud made his heart thump faster. The nervous energy he felt talking to the chief was nothing compared to the sick dread he felt, thinking of how that night could have gone differently. 

“Katara had to re-heal his wounds, after,” Zuko said. “But… he really is fine, and… the Fire Nation never supported my father’s actions. Uncle isn’t like him at all, he—”

Chief Hakoda was looking faintly… amused? Zuko trailed off, embarrassed, when he caught him looking.

“Spoken like a true diplomat,” Hakoda said. Zuko cringed. 

“Sorry. I just meant,” Zuko hesitated. “I’m not sure what else you’ve heard about… me, but I hope that whatever it was won’t reflect poorly on the Fire Nation. Or my uncle. He’s a good man.”

Chief Hakoda considered that. Zuko waited patiently for him to say something, but he only sighed again and turned his gaze down the road. Sokka was out of sight now, but Zuko followed the direction he’d gone with his eyes, anyway.

“It hasn’t. As far as I’m concerned, they’re just rumors,” Chief Hakoda said. Right. Of course the chief wouldn’t base his judgements on something so unreliable. Zuko nodded, embarrassed, and glanced away. “And for what it’s worth... I think you’re doing a fine job, representing your nation.”

“I’ve—oh,” Zuko said. He... hadn’t expected that, and… he was probably flushing a truly embarrassing color, now. He cleared his throat. “Thank you, sir.”

“Has Sokka told you what happened, when he was young?” he asked. Zuko nodded. “Then you understand that I just want my children to be safe.”

“They are—I mean, they will be,” Zuko said. “And they have each other.”

“I’m starting to understand that,” Hakoda said. “Tell Sokka I’d like to speak with him, when he’s ready.”

Zuko nodded. The chief stared at him for another long moment, before nodding once, almost to himself. 

“Well,” he said. “I’ll leave you to it.”

The harbor was brighter here than it had been in the North, without the looming shadow of the wall. The stars stretched on endlessly above, breathtaking, meeting the glittering surface of the ocean under the moonlight. Out there on the end of the dark pier, Sokka looked like he was seated on the edge of the world. 

Zuko’s boots crunched in the snow as he approached. Sokka glanced up, tense and irritated, until he saw that it was him. He relaxed slightly as Zuko made his way down to the end of the dock, the hollow thump of his boots the only sound other than the quiet rush of the water below them. Zuko sat at the edge, legs crossed. He hesitated, then scooted slightly closer, letting his feet dangle over the side next to Sokka’s. Zuko hooked one boot across his ankle, testing, and Sokka smiled.

“I spoke to your father,” Zuko said, and the tense irritation came right back. Zuko put a hand on Sokka’s knee to keep him from climbing to his feet. Sokka huffed, tongue pressed against his cheek. 

“I can’t believe him,” Sokka grumbled. “I told him to leave you alone.”

Zuko shook his head quickly. “He—no. _I_ spoke to _him_. Um. For you.”

Sokka looked surprised, and a little curl of self-consciousness threatened his stomach. He shrunk back slightly. 

“Sorry,” Zuko said. Maybe he’d overstepped. Sokka was close with his father, after all, even if it had been a long time. Maybe it wasn’t his place to get involved at all. “Is… that okay?”

“Yeah, no, that’s fine,” Sokka said immediately. “Thank you. What did… what did he say?”

“I told him what happened, and he said—that he wants to talk to you,” Zuko said. “But I think he understands. He’s just worried about you—”

“—because he loves me,” Sokka said. He scrubbed a hand against the back of his neck, almost sheepishly. “Yeah, I know. I’ll talk to him.” 

The silence stretched comfortably between them. Zuko leaned over, just a little, and bumped his shoulder against Sokka’s. 

“You asked your father to leave me alone?” Zuko asked. Sokka glanced up at him, then flushed, embarrassed.

“Oh. Yeah. I thought… you were already so nervous, I didn’t want him to stress you out,” Sokka said. “I didn’t think you’d want to talk to him without backup.”

“It was terrible,” Zuko confirmed, so bluntly that it startled a laugh out of Sokka. Zuko wasn’t really joking—his hands still felt a little unsteady from the nerves. Sokka smiled, and leaned a little further into his side. “He’s… a nice man.”

“Yeah,” Sokka said. “He is.”

With only a gentle breeze promising clear skies for the night, the ocean waves were calm and quiet. Zuko scanned the horizon, then turned to look back at the village, with the speckles of firelight dotting along the snow. 

“The paintings really didn’t do it justice,” Zuko said quietly. “Not that—I know they couldn’t, really, but…”

“It’s really different,” Sokka agreed. He was leaning a little against Zuko’s side, and Zuko shifted over enough to put his arm around him. It was cold out here, colder even than Zuko remembered from the Northern Water Tribe, although he wasn’t sure if he was just imagining it after the time away, or if the high wall surrounding Agna Qel’a had kept away some of the chill. 

“And that’s not a _bad_ thing,” Sokka said. “It’s different, but it’s good. There are so many more people, and they’ve already rebuilt so much. It reminds me of Gran Gran’s stories, almost, but… I don’t know. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it.” 

“I’d stay with you,” Zuko said. “If you decided you want to stay.”

“I _don’t_ want to,” Sokka said. “I mean, I do! Of course I do, but not… not right now. I want to travel. I want to see the world. I _don’t_ want to spend the rest of my life hidden behind more walls.”

He sighed and tipped his head down to rest on Zuko’s shoulder. 

“What’s the point of peace, if we can’t do that?” Sokka asked quietly. 

Zuko hummed. He tilted his cheek against Sokka’s hair and watched the waves roll over the starlit water.

“My uncle has said good things about Ba Sing Se,” Zuko said. He paused, flushed. “I mean… he’s only been there when… but I’m sure it’s nice, now—”

Sokka chuckled, effectively cutting him off before he could get going. Zuko could feel the laughter rumble through his own chest, with Sokka leaning so heavily into his side. 

“We can definitely make Ba Sing Se happen,” Sokka said. “That’s much better than Katara’s pick. She wants to see that stupid swamp, and I _know_ it’s a waterbending thing. Not a great pick for a vacation, in my opinion, but whatever. If she wants to spend her time getting bit by giant flies and elbow leeches, that’s her choice.”

The fondness in Sokka’s tone, very stubbornly glazed over with put-upon annoyance, gave him away. Sokka was going to be right out there with her, slogging through the mud with the rest of them.

“And where does Yue want to go?” Zuko asked. 

“Ember Island,” Sokka said. 

Zuko leaned back, surprised, and maybe a little too eager. Sokka indulgently let him go.

“Really?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Sokka said. “ _Someone_ got it into her head that it’s nice there, so... I guess we’re going to the Fire Nation, after.”

Sokka reached down between them and caught Zuko’s hand. His fingers were clumsy inside the thick, three-fingered mittens Sokka had pressed on him. Sokka gave him a playful look, tugging his own glove off with his teeth. His hand snaked inside Zuko’s mitten, wrapping tightly around his fingers. 

Zuko flushed, and then laughed a little at himself, for getting flustered by something as innocent as holding hands. He glanced up to meet Sokka’s eyes, and the teasing smile was still there—but he was looking a little rosy, too, and maybe not just from the cold. 

“Okay,” Zuko said. “Earth Kingdom first, then Fire Nation, then…”

“Who knows,” Sokka said, smiling into the darkness, his gaze tipped up toward the stars, and the words curled around them like a promise. 

Zuko blinked awake, warm and content, to a light pressure on his temple. He rolled, slightly, as Sokka shifted behind him, watching through half-lidded eyes as Sokka leaned over him again. His arm was still around his waist, but he was leaning up on one elbow, feathering light kisses over Zuko’s cheek. Zuko blinked at him sleepily, and hummed, a soft, inquisitive sound. Sokka grinned when he saw that he was awake. He leaned down and kissed him then, sweetly, lips still sleep-warmed and soft. 

“Time to get up,” Sokka whispered in his ear. Zuko shivered. Sokka had pushed their furs down around their waists, letting the cold morning air in.

“It’s—it’s still night time,” Zuko said. “Sun’s not up.”

“Only for a few more minutes,” Sokka said.

“Mhn, okay. Few more minutes,” Zuko mumbled. He tried to tug the furs back up, and Sokka chuckled. 

“C’mon,” Sokka said. “I want to show you something.”

Zuko huffed, but when he squinted suspiciously at Sokka, he was looking at him with such a hopeful expression that all the stubborn fight bled out of him. Zuko was pretty sure he’d never say no to that look, for the rest of his life. The thought fluttered in his stomach, a nervous sort of feeling, but not at all bad.

“Come on,” Sokka repeated, and Zuko went. 

This early in the morning, the docks were still empty, with the majority of the village still asleep. The cold had frozen the snow solid overnight, so that their footsteps only rasped quietly over the surface as they walked. They left no trail behind them as Sokka led him out to the docks again, where the pink light of the sunrise was just spilling over the horizon. Sokka sat, and Zuko sat too, easily slotting into the space at his side.

With the sun rising behind the glaciers, the light haloing them was breathtaking. It looked otherworldly, with the soft light of dawn shining through the thinnest edges of the ice, glowing pink and orange, the darkest shadows of the glacier’s cores tracing wandering shapes against the horizon.

“Nice, right?” Sokka asked. “Like a wildfire without the heat.”

“I wouldn’t mind the heat,” Zuko said, teasing, though he didn’t really mean it. Sokka laughed anyway. He leaned into his space, too, arm curling obediently around Zuko’s side.

They enjoyed the quiet for a while, watching the waves on the water, the light glancing off the ice. Sokka tilted his head to the side. Zuko leaned in, automatically, drawn like a compass needle to its pole. Sokka looked at him like he looked at the sunrise, with open wonder, and Zuko couldn’t contain the soft sound his gaze startled out of him, a feeling more desperately hopeful than surprise, and so, so much heavier than fondness.

He thought he might never get used to that look, and he thought—he desperately wanted to try. 

Sokka’s fingers curled around the front of Zuko’s coat, brushing over the soft blue fur. He reached up to frame Sokka's face with his hands. Zuko’s cheeks felt chilled from the wind off the water, but Sokka’s nose was _freezing_ without the warmth of an inner flame. He huffed and felt the heat from his breath wash over them in a wave. Sokka laughed against his lips, leaned into the warmth of Zuko’s skin, and kissed him.

A call echoed across the bay. Zuko almost ignored it, until the voice took on a distinctly annoyed tilt when they didn’t turn. Sokka sighed, the ghost of his breath feathering Zuko’s cheek as he turned to look.

“Hey, stupid!” Katara yelled, waving her hands over her head to catch their attention. Sokka nudged him. 

“She’s talking to you,” Sokka whispered, his lips still inches from Zuko’s, like he couldn’t quite bear to pull away.

Zuko snorted. He leaned over and waved back at them, so that she knew they’d seen her. Katara swept an arm forward, a little wave rising in their wake to bring them closer. Yue looked less green than she had on the ship, but she still looked deeply unhappy with the gentle rocking from even Katara’s single wave, clutching the side of the canoe with gloved hands.

“I want to show Yue the glaciers where Dad used to take us spearfishing,” Katara said. “Grab a canoe, you’re coming.”

“We’re having a moment,” Sokka said, dusting snow off his pant legs, despite the protest. “Maybe we don’t want to go spearfishing.”

“Oh, please, like you don’t want to show off,” Katara said, rolling her eyes. “Hurry up, if you don’t want to row out there yourselves. I’m not a ferry service.”

Sokka glanced over at Zuko, and Zuko shrugged.

“You never did show me how to fish,” he said.

**Author's Note:**

> More beautiful [Moon Spirit Sokka fanart](https://menekah.tumblr.com/post/639504059864416256/moon-spirit-sokka-that-ive-decided-to-draw-after) by @menekah :)
> 
> Thank you for the comments/kudos!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [all for a pretty sky (and your pretty eyes)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938849) by [cheddarabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheddarabbit/pseuds/cheddarabbit)




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